Brave New World
by Neuronerd
Summary: Nathan once again is out to destroy his own kind while Hiro goes too far into the future and meets Kirk. Was it an accident or destiny? The fate of evolved humans and the Enterprise hang in the balance! Most of both crews are here.
1. Chapter 1 Hide and Seek

**A/N: I'm back! The crossover I insinuated at the end of "The Final Frontier" has finally come to life. Unfortunately I am much busier these days than I was then so updates won't be as fast, but I am aiming for once a week. **

**Sylar is just Sylar- no Nathan implant and Peter has all of his powers. Trek cast, of course, have no powers other than awesome levels of coolness, Spock's melding, and Kirk's statistically impossible luck. **

**I know this is kind of an odd grouping, but I would love to hear what you think!**

**Chapter 1- Hide and Seek**

If Peter hadn't known Nathan so well, he might have been shocked at the turn of current events. But as he was his brother and this was far from the first time some twisted idea had become lodged in his head, he barely blinked as Noah Bennet warned him of his imminent demise if he didn't go into hiding with the others. This was not the first time Nathan had used tortured logic to justify his actions. Peter was sure that somehow it all made perfect sense to him, but he had learned long ago not to try and figure it out for himself; it would only end in tears and frustration.

He also knew that Noah was a man he could trust. Sure he had been involved in some questionable activities in the past and he even held Peter on level 5 at Primatech for a time, but that was a long time ago and the world had changed for both of them. Noah had lost everything that he had to his job and all he had left was his integrity. So if he was convinced that Peter was in danger and went to the trouble to track him down to tell him so, he thought he might do well to listen. After all, Noah was not the kind of man that could be blown off even if he wanted to.

Peter sighed and pulled on his boots, lacing them with a little more vigor than necessary. These days he found being a paramedic draining and some days he dreaded facing the long shifts, but this was not what he needed to hear before starting his day- or rather his night as he always seemed to get stuck with the graveyard shifts. Knowing that Nathan, his own brother, was actively hunting him with the intent to…God knows what his endgame was but it was a game Peter didn't want to play anymore. He had hoped Nathan had learned his lesson the last time he tried to capture specials and warehouse them, but apparently not. It all reminded him of a dog that never grew tired of chasing a Frisbee.

Noah watched the younger man with an uneasy look. "You still planning on going to work?"

Peter stood and smirked. "Yeah. People are counting on me." He slipped his jacket on that read EMT on the back in bold white lettering so people wouldn't shoot at him if he was called to a bad neighborhood. It was of little comfort to him not because he feared being injured, but a bullet hole and a bloodied shirt are tough to explain in light of no physical wounds. "I can't keep running from him. I just have to live my life."

"I can respect that, Peter. But this time you are enemy #1 because of what you can do. He is rounding up people with abilities and they are disappearing down some deep, dark hole somewhere." He paused and lowered his voice. "This time he means business, Peter, and there will be no free passes."

The innuendo was not lost on him. Despite being slightly mad at times, Nathan was not entirely inhuman. He did, at great peril to himself and his project, protect Claire and prevent her from being captured. In the end it backfired and nearly got him killed and could have ruined him politically, but Nathan was the master of survival. He spun it all like a pro and came out smelling like roses. Somehow he turned a defeat into a stunning victory and this political capital was no doubt funding his newest quest against his own kind. "How do you know his plan will work anyway?" He asked with a squint. "He has tried this and failed before. You know as well as I do that the future is not set in stone. Things change."

Noah smiled as though he had anticipated the question. "I do know, that is why I sent a scout to check it out."

"Hiro?" Peter asked with a smile. "You sent Hiro into the future to check it out?" Almost as an afterthought he added, "You do know that he has been having trouble with that lately…"

"Trouble how?" Noah was clearly not expecting that bit of news and he was not a man in the habit of not being in the know at all times.

"Not sure," Peter shrugged "just heard it through the grapevine. But knowing him he wouldn't have admitted to it even if you asked him. You know how he is," he smirked "he would have seen it as his destiny or something."

"That he did." Noah chuckled. He had to admire the Japanese man for his determination and he remembered the way his eyes lit up with purpose when he approached him. He just wished he knew beforehand about his difficulties. The last thing he wanted was to put him in danger and he sighed. It seemed he had quite a string of that trailing through his long history in this line of work.

"So," Peter said pulling him back to the present, "if Nathan is after me, why isn't he after Sylar? I would think he would want him as a trophy." Nathan's ego was sufficiently large enough that he would probably have him frozen like Han Solo and put on display in his office.

"He is." Noah replied matter-of-factly. "But you know as well as I so that he is not an easy catch." He almost hated giving him credit for his abilities because he really was a pain in his ass, but in this case his predatory instincts would keep him safe and that might just save the world.

Sylar would be a happenstance participant of course; the whole hero thing wasn't really his cup of absinthe but he could be convinced from time to time to lend a hand if there was enough in it for him. Problem was, there was almost never a deal sweet enough for him. He could do very well all on his own thank you very much even if the others couldn't. He wasn't what you would call a team player and it made Noah wish for the days when he was just Gabriel Gray the watchmaker. He was so much easier to control then. But if he was honest with himself- a bothersome habit that was becoming more and more frequent these days- he would have to take responsibility because in part he made Sylar what he was by using Elle. It wasn't in his plan for him to kill her, but he should have known better. He knew firsthand what it felt like to have your heart ripped out and stomped on and what that can do to a man.

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Across town, Hiro smiled slightly as his best friend Ando predictably flipped out over Bennet's request. After all this time Ando still worried and fretted, but someday he would convince him that his ability to manipulate the time space continuum was a gift from destiny to be used for good. It appeared that now was not the time. "You can't keep this up, Hiro!" Ando exclaimed waving his hands wildly. "It is making you sick and you are losing the ability to control where you go! What if you teleport yourself to the moon by accident one of these days?" He howled.

Hiro tried to suppress his smile because it was not really Japanese custom to be impolite, but then again he was speaking to a friend. Ando technically had a point, but he was given to hysterics sometimes and Hiro always did think it was funny. "If I do not go," he began in Japanese although Ando yelled at him in English, "people like us may be gone. Mr. Bennet told me Mrs. Petrelli saw it in a dream that there were no more people with abilities. I must go to the future and see for myself." He placed his hand on Ando's shoulder when defeat filled his eyes. "This is a mission of great importance and I must go for all of us."

Ando knew there was no point in further protests. He knew his friend well enough to see that nothing he could say and no amount of logic would dissuade him from what he saw as a calling. He would have been concerned in any event, but lately Hiro's abilities were on the glitch and it seemed to be adversely affecting him. The last time he tried to force his power to work he ended up with a migraine and a nosebleed. Ando was just a cubicle jockey that pushed papers for a living. He wasn't a doctor, but even he could see the writing on the wall and he couldn't help but wonder if when in the blink of an eye he was gone that would be the last of him. "Then be careful," he warned, "you might end up in the middle of a lava pit or something."

Hiro chucked and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He wanted nothing more than to take Ando with him to show him everything was ok, but the truth was he wasn't sure himself that he would be successful. His powers were unpredictable and even if he managed to get to an appropriate spot in the future there was no guarantee he could make it back. Taking Ando along would worsen the strain and while he could accept death in the line of duty if it was his destiny, he could not willingly doom him as well. Deep down he knew that Ando was loyal to the end and would face death with him so he wouldn't have to do it alone and that made him smile. How many people could say they had friends like that?

He thought of New York circa 2100 and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

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Sylar walked along the dark streets of Queens alone as always. It really was a miserable kind of night with a light drizzle and air cool enough to see your breath escape like the soul from the body. He watched with passing curiosity and wondered if he even had a soul. He probably had at some point, but he was fairly sure he had lost it somewhere along the way although he couldn't say exactly when. He took a bite of his ice cream and didn't waste another second on it. Whether he did or didn't, what mattered was the here and now and right then he wanted nothing more than to be back at his apartment in warm, dry clothes. Too bad teleportation wasn't a power he had. He didn't have super speed and he couldn't even fly. Of all the things he could do, none of his powers were of use for this particular problem and it irritated him. He was always on the lookout for new powers, but his lack of skills in the rapid movement department would have to be given priority.

He could have just taken a cab, but he would be damned if he was going to pay $40 to go seven blocks. Besides, the only cab driver he knew was Mohinder Suresh and it would be just his luck to get into the back of his car out of the millions in the city. He had a marked distaste for him and would have outright killed him just like his father except it was too much fun for Mohinder to know that he had indeed murdered him but could never prove it. Sylar would never deny he wasn't a bit of a sadist at times. It seemed to be one of the few pleasures he got out of life anymore.

He paused by an electronics store when he saw a familiar face on the display of plasma televisions in the window. He blinked his dark eyes rapidly partly to clear them from the water that dripped down off his hair and partly because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. On the screens larger than life was his photograph alongside Senator Nathan Petrelli giving a speech in front of an American flag. Sylar wouldn't normally give a damn about politics- he wasn't a registered voter mostly because he didn't want jury duty… and because it generally wasn't a good idea for a serial killer to have a confirmed address- but the closed caption ticker that crawled just below Nathan's chin streamed his words. "…is considered to be highly dangerous and a great threat to the security of this nation. He is not alone, there are others like him that must be captured before they can use their knowledge and resources to undermine the safety and security of our neighborhoods. I would ask every citizen of this country to look closely at your neighbors and to have the courage to notify authorities if you notice any unnatural behaviors. We, as a nation, must stop the spread of this threat to our way of life. I can't do it alone. Goodnight and God bless." He flashed a smarmy smile that made Sylar cringe inwardly.

He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed his photograph on display, but the streets were almost empty. He put his head down and walked quickly toward his apartment. Just when he was getting comfortable, he would have to run again. This time, he wasn't sure if he could go far or fast enough because behind that million dollar smile was the promise that he wouldn't rest until he got his man. And with the entire country now watching, he had very few options.


	2. Chapter 2 Come Here Often?

**Chapter 2- Come Here Often?**

Jim spun his bottle of beer listlessly until his companion objected. "The sound emanating from your action is quite irritating, Captain."

Jim smiled because what Spock couldn't have known was that he did it on purpose just to get a rise out if his stoic first officer. He had barely twitched the whole time they had been there and it was starting to unnerve him. Jim knew that seedy, dimly lit backwoods bars were not really Spock's scene, but they had been forced to dock for repairs thanks to a run-in with a particularly thick band of asteroids that Chekov swore were uncharted. Sulu did an admirable job in evasive maneuvers that even made Spock a bit greener with sudden shifts and drops, but even he couldn't avoid them all. The ship was moored in orbit while it was being repaired, but Spock and Jim had to report personally to the Admiral and explain exactly what the hell had happened to the fleet's flagship.

With asses sufficiently chewed, they were released to await transport back to the ship from the Riverside, Iowa depot. Jim thought a nice stiff drink was in order after suffering perhaps the longest and most pointless lecture on how expensive and important the Enterprise was to Starfleet yada yada. It wasn't the first time he had a come to Jesus meeting with Starfleet brass and it probably wouldn't be the last, but that didn't make it any more fun to sit through.

He glanced back to the bar and paused as he lifted the bottle to his lips. Standing awkwardly against the bar was an Asian man that was not there just a second ago. He instinctively looked across the table at the door and back to the man as if it would somehow solve anything. Jim would have liked to think he was a fairly observant individual, but if he wasn't he knew damn well Spock was. One look at his right hand man revealed that he had also noticed the man and seemed equally disturbed.

Hiro quickly looked around and took a seat at the bar to try and blend in. He made a few quick glances around and noted strange symbols he didn't recognize and two guys at a table nearest him who were looking back. It must have been Halloween, he thought as he lowered his head. They were dressed oddly and the guy on the right was decked out as some kind of green monster with pointy ears, but they wore the same style shirt.

"Can I help you?" The bartender growled as he put his hands menacingly on the bar.

More than ever Hiro wished he had brought Ando along. Although his English was improving, Ando was far more fluent and seemed to better grasp the nuance of American culture. He would know what to do and say. "Ah….yes. Sake. Domo." He carefully annunciated with a bow and a smile. The bartender squinted hard at him. Perhaps he didn't understand. He pushed his glasses up and tried something more simple. "Water?" The barkeep shook his head with a sigh.

Jim and Spock watched the exchange with interest. Aside from apparently appearing out of thin air, there was something very odd about him. It wasn't like Jim had never seen an Asian man before- he spent all day everyday staring at Sulu's mug; well, the back of his head anyway. It wasn't really the way he was dressed either. Although not many outside of cornfields wore them, denim jeans had never fallen out of fashion since their creation in the 1800's and the plain cotton shirt was pretty normal.

"He is wearing spectacles to correct poor vision." Spock commented in surprise. Jim laughed because he was right! Glasses had gone by the wayside hundreds of years ago when vision could be reliably corrected in seconds with a laser. In fact, he wondered how the man even got a pair since the only ones he had seen were in museums. He took a hit from his bottle and thought it was close to Halloween, maybe they guy just wanted to look old fashioned. Not much of a costume in his opinion, but to each his own.

But just as he was starting to lose interest in the mystery man, he watched as the man pulled out a wad of colorful paper and handed one of the strips to the bartender with a slight bow. Either this guy was trying his best to stay in character or there really was something special about him. Spock turned back to Jim looking as shocked as a Vulcan could, which was to say he raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but for him it was as good as screaming. "I believe that man has attempted to purchase the drink with paper currency."

"What the hell is this?" The bartender yelled waving the floppy bit of paper around. "Don't you have any credits, ya bum? Get out of my bar!" He flicked the paper back at the confused man and pointed to the door.

Jim was up in a flash and scooped up the paper from the floor as he settled in the seat next to the man with a smile. "Don't mind my friend here," he said looking at the barkeep, "he is from out of town. Tell you what, put his drink on my tab and add a little extra for your troubles." The bartender gruffly nodded and gave one last nasty look at Hiro before turning away to wash some glasses.

"Come here often?" Jim laughed glancing sidelong at the still stunned man.

"Thank you, mister…." Hiro carefully annunciated with a bow.

"Kirk. Jim Kirk." He supplied watching the man with amusement. He had never been bowed to before and it made him a little uncomfortable. He looked down at the crumpled bit of paper in his hands and recognized it as a $10 bill from the United States of America- long before it had become part of the Federation of Planets. "Where did you get this?" He asked with just a little more awe than he intended.

"More?" Hiro asked thinking he hadn't paid enough for the drink. He didn't know where he was, but the drinks here were expensive.

"No, no." Jim protested trying to give the old money back to the man. "This is yours, you keep it."

"I insist." Hiro stood firm with a polite smile. This was an artform in Japanese culture and it was expected that Jim would again try to give the money back, but Hiro was shocked when the man just shrugged and tucked it in his pocket. He really wished Ando was here.

"Mr. Kirk," Hiro began with intense purpose, "do you know Nathan Petrelli?"

Jim finished off his beer and set it on the counter with a thud to signal another. "No, Should I?"

"Senator from New York?" Hiro prompted. His English was being stretched beyond his capabilities and was really hampering his mission, but he could safely guess that Mr. Kirk didn't speak Japanese.

"Senator?" Jim parroted. Senators didn't exist anymore, that was part of the old government system. "Who are you and where are you from?"

"Hiro Nakamura." He said with a deep bow. "I can bend time and space."

Jim sat there looking at Hiro blankly wondering what he had gotten himself into. He glanced back at Spock who regarded him with another uplifted brow. With his sensitive hearing, he no doubt caught the conversation from where he was sitting. Jim looked back at Hiro and asked, "Exactly… how ...do you bend time and space?" He knew he shouldn't encourage crazy people, but a part of him couldn't resist.

"It is my ability." Hiro smiled.

Jim raised his eyebrows and asked, "Like a superpower?" Hiro nodded and Jim took the opportunity to lower the boom. "People don't have special abilities. Vulcans can mind meld, but we humans…we're just not special."

Hiro's face fell and Jim felt a twinge of guilt for bursting his bubble. "No special people?" He lamented. "Then Mr. Petrelli has succeeded. I must go back at once!"

"Go where?" Jim inquired looking around for the bartender. He really needed that other beer.

"Back to my time to warn the others." Hiro answered simply as if Jim should have known.

"So there are more like you?" Jim's mind began to twist and bend at the possibility that the strange man just might be telling the truth. If Vulcans could mind meld- and he knew this to be true- then wasn't it at least possible that other races could do similar things? Although it was officially denied, it was rumored that evolved humans existed long ago- people that could do miraculous things like fly and melt metal using only their minds. But at some point they just disappeared but no one really knew how. He sat up in his chair and turned a little more toward Hiro. If his mission as a Starfleet Captain was to search out new life forms and cultures yada yada, then he felt a responsibility to check the one out sitting right next to him.

"Yes!" Hiro eagerly replied with a gleam in his eyes. "And they all do many things. And my friend Peter Petrelli has many special abilities."

"Isn't that the guy you were looking for?" Jim asked confused.

"No. Peter is my friend. His brother Nathan is the flying man. He is a bad man." He answered lowering his voice as though he dare not speak his name aloud. "I must go now. I must warn the others. Thank you Mr. Kirk."

Jim nodded and raised his hand to give him a pat on the shoulder and then they were gone. Spock raised an eyebrow as he observed the two empty barstools where his Captain and the man sat a fraction of a second ago. For perhaps the first time in his life he found himself unable to comprehend what had just happened, let alone come up with a plausible explanation. He calmly got up and retrieved the paper money that Jim left on the bar as though it could give him some kind of clue as to his whereabouts and he went outside into the cool night air.

He removed his communicator from his belt and almost sighed because he just didn't know how it was possible for Jim to get himself into these kinds of situations. "Spock to the Enterprise." He called.

"Aye, Sir." Scotty's thick accent streamed through the earpiece.

"Mr. Scott, perform a scan for the Captain's signature. I have momentarily lost sight of him." He tried to keep the situation from seeming more dire than it was, but he couldn't imagine it being much worse.

After a pause his worried laden voice reported, "Ah don't see him, Sir. It is like he just vanished."

"Fascinating." Spock whispered. "Mr. Scott, you will have command until I return."

Scotty replied, but there was a little static in the transmission so Spock couldn't tell if he said "Aye" or "Shite."


	3. Chapter 3 Let's Make a Deal

**Chapter 3- Let's Make a Deal**

Peter and Noah both looked at the tangled pile of humanity that had appeared on the floor of Peter's dimly lit and sparsely furnished apartment. Hiro disentangled himself and leapt to his feet staring at Jim who was looking around in a daze. "Mr. Kirk!" He exclaimed astonished. "Why did you come?"

Jim stood to face him straightening his uniform in an attempt to regain at least a shred of his dignity. "I didn't know I had a choice." He replied bitterly. He narrowed his sharp blue eyes for effect and Hiro bowed his head in shame. Jim Kirk had been party to some fairly fucked up things in his time, but this one took the cake. It just went to prove what his best friend Bones always said: no good deed went unpunished.

"Who's your friend?" A man also wearing glasses asked amused while a younger man looked on with a dead expression as though suddenly appearing people was nothing new to him.

"James T. Kirk," he stated defiantly looking the men in the eyes, "Captain of the starship Enterprise." The two men looked at each other and raised their eyebrows as though he were crazy which only made him angrier. He felt a shock of adrenaline when he noticed a large handgun at the waist of the man wearing glasses. An actual gun that fired projectiles. Bones once showed him pictures of what kind of damage that did to human bodies. "My first officer will be looking for me and trust me when I say you do not want to deal with an angry Vulcan." He warned.

The younger man stretched out his hand and said, "We are not going to hurt you, James. What happened was an accident, you must have been touching Hiro when he jumped." There was something almost hypnotically relaxing about his voice and Jim found himself lowering his guard a bit. "I'm Peter and this is Noah." He continued gesturing the man with the gun.

"Peter Petrelli?" Jim asked glancing at Hiro.

"Yeah." Peter confirmed a bit perplexed. "How did you know?"

Jim jerked his head toward Hiro and answered, "He said he knew you and that your brother was an ass or something like that." Peter chuckled despite himself.

"There are no more special people in the future." Hiro chimed in. "We must stop Nathan."

"James, do you know of any humans in your time that can do…unusual things?" Noah asked with an air of authority.

"Call me Jim." He instructed. He really hated being called James, only his grandma could get away with that. "And no. Humans are not capable of extraordinary things. Well, aside from saving the planet from utter destruction."

"We know a little something about that." Peter mused and Hiro nodded grimly.

"Are you saying you can?" Jim challenged folding his arms into his best skeptical Bones pose. "Hiro told me you can do all kinds of things."

Peter looked at Hiro and sighed. He really didn't like being thought of as a sideshow freak. Still, he stretched forth his hand and made one of his kitchen chairs levitate a few inches off the ground for a second or two before gently returning it to the floor.

Jim's eyes were wide with wonder. "So it _is_ true!" He breathed. "Evolved humans did exist!"

"Did?" Noah prompted placing his hands on his hips inadvertently exposing his rather large weapon a little more.

Jim shifted his gaze to the older man and explained. "It was always a rumor that evolved humans existed sometime before the third World War. There were hints of them in documents from that time, but no real solid evidence. And then just like that," he snapped his fingers and Peter jumped slightly, "they were gone."

Noah glanced uneasily at Peter and asked, "Do you remember hearing about a man named Nathan Petrelli or any of the names of evolved people connected to this disappearance?"

"No." Jim answered shaking his head. "But I wasn't really all that into it since it seemed more like a fairy tale than reality. I tell you who would be helpful- my chief engineer, Scotty. He loves this kind of shit and I wouldn't be surprised if he has a whole drawer full of stuff on this in his office."

"I am not going to jerk you around here, Jim," Noah announced in a serious tone, "but you may well be looking at the last remaining evolved humans. They have been disappearing steadily over the past few days never to be heard from again. There are a few more out there that I could gather, but they have no place to hide."

"I see." Jim immediately caught his drift and the negotiator in him kicked in. "I could offer you sanctuary on my ship and access to all the resources I have on this disappearance thing in exchange for a little research of our own."

Peter shifted uneasily and asked, "What kind of research?" He could just imagine vivisection being in the cards and healing power or not, he didn't want any part of that.

"Starfleet insists your kind does not exist. If we can get some autobiographical and physiological data on how your powers work, I would consider it a fair trade." He explained.

Noah glanced at Peter and Hiro. "I have the perfect person in mind, but you have to give me some time to catch him."

Peter immediately shot Noah a fierce look. "You are going to give them Sylar? Do you know what he will do?" Even Hiro seemed to think it was a bad idea. Jim didn't know who this Sylar person was, but it didn't seem like he was the most popular guy in the school yard.

Noah ignored Peter's protest and directed his attention to Jim. "I can give you perhaps the most powerful evolved human in existence, but it will be done my way. This guy is no pussy cat, but you can do whatever you want to him- no holds barred."

Jim nodded in agreement, although he knew Bones would require some convincing. He noted the old stethoscope that snaked around Peter's neck and wondered if he was a doctor as well. He knew the good doctor would never do anything as barbaric as cut him open to see how he ticked, but it seemed like these people didn't care enough about this Sylar guy to prevent that from being his fate and he found that a little sickening. He wondered if Sylar felt the same about them.

"I should go too, then." Peter said with a sigh. "Just in case." He didn't need to say it out loud because Hiro and Noah knew that he was probably the only one who had a chance in stopping Sylar should something go wrong, although Kirby Plaza was something he tried hard to forget.

"Hiro," Noah began slowly as though he were addressing a guilty child, "can you take Jim and Peter back to his time and make it back?"

Hiro held his head high and gave one sharp nod in determination which made Noah smile, but he knew that now was not the time to be lost in time with such precious cargo in order to save face. "Alright, then. Meet me back here and I will gather the others."

Hiro placed a hand on each of the men's shoulders and thought of the bar he had come from as he closed his eyes. Jim was about to ask if he should also close his eyes or hold his breath, but he was gone before his mouth could form the words, leaving Noah alone in Peter's apartment wondering if he had made the right decision. He had to be satisfied because if he did nothing, the future was certain- there would be no more specials. After 20 years in this business, that was an outcome he just couldn't abide.

He let himself out of Peter's modest apartment and wondered what Angela thought of her son's living conditions. She had probably never seen it for herself since she would never be caught dead in this neighborhood.

He exhaled and watched his breath dissipate into the cold night air. The drizzle had stopped and he focused his attention on bagging and tagging Sylar all on his own. It was easier in the past when he wasn't as strong or skilled and he had the Haitian to neutralize what powers he did have. But the Haitian was on the MIA list and Sylar had become wise to his tactics, making the task all the more daunting. All he could do was find him and then play his hand as the cards were dealt in the hopes that he was the better poker player.

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Spock had clipped his communicator back on his belt and looked once more at the paper currency in the flashing lights of the sign above the entrance that read, "Big Mamma's Bar." The currency was well worn and slightly soft to the touch. It bore the likeness of a former president named Hamilton and overall had a pinkish orange hue although it was tough to tell with the intermittent red splash of light. Spock once heard that you could tell what a culture valued most by what was on its money and to him it seemed that early Americans were quite fond of themselves judging by the number of times "The United States of America" was printed on the surface.

He looked up when the doors opened and he heard a familiar voice almost whine, "I feel sick." Jim was bent over holding his stomach while the Asian man looked on. Another man with EMT on his back instructed him to sit. "Take a few deep breaths and it will pass. It takes a few times to get used to." He encouraged.

"I don't know that I want to." Jim wheezed between breaths. "Jesus, transporters aren't that rough."

"Captain?" Spock inquired as he slowly approached. Although the humans seemed harmless, the Asian one did kidnap his superior and now he had an accomplice. He remained on guard just in case.

"Spock!" Jim smiled although he was still a little pale. "You will not believe what just happened!"

"Likely not, but I am willing to examine the details." He answered dryly. The truth was, any explanation was better than what he had which was exactly nothing, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"It's true!" Jim exclaimed blue eyes sparkling with wonder. "They do exist! I accidently went back in time with Hiro and this is Peter," he said gesturing to EMT man, "and there are more! They will be staying on the ship for awhile because they are in trouble."

Spock straightened a little and placed his hands behind his back. He had already made up his mind to speak with Dr. McCoy regarding Jim's recent hallucinations, but now he wanted to bring people with unknown abilities onto the ship? He would have outright dismissed Jim's ramblings, but the logical part of his brain balked at the unexplained phenomenon of personally witnessing them vanish before his very eyes and now they were back. He was reasonably sure they were at the only entry point of the establishment, so he couldn't have snuck past him. Aside from this, there was EMT man whom Spock knew for a fact was not previously in the bar.

Spock was not a man who routinely listened to his gut instinct because feelings were illogical, but he had a very bad feeling about this. He just had no way of expressing his concern to Jim because in the end he was the Captain and there was no reason he could not take refugees aboard, even if they were from an alternate timeline. He couldn't remember any Starfleet regulation that prohibited it which meant it didn't exist.

His eyes remained fixed on EMT man as he once again removed his communicator and hailed the ship. "Mr. Scott, are the transporters back online?"

"Aye, Sir." Scotty reported cheerfully. "They just came back up to full power."

"Four to beam up then, Mr. Scott." Spock informed dispassionately.

"Four, Sir?" Scotty inquired confused. "Did ya find the Captain drawn and quartered?"


	4. Chapter 4 The Improbability of Unicorns

**Chapter 4- The Improbability of Unicorns**

This time it was Peter's turn to double over with nausea when he rematerialized on the pad with Jim. Jim looked over at him and smirked before giving him a knowing pat on the back. Hiro had gone back for more while it was agreed that Spock would wait on the surface and order them beamed up as they came in an effort to ease at least some of the strain all the popping in and out of existence would place on him.

"Mr. Scott," Jim called when Peter was again able to stand upright on his own, "standby for Spock's instructions. When our guests arrive, have Chekov or someone escort them to 10 forward until we know how many there are and can prep quarters for them."

Scotty nodded trying not to stare too much at Peter's odd appearance, but it would have been nice if someone would have given him a heads up that the ship was having a costume party. It was close to Halloween and he knew how much the Captain enjoyed the holiday. Any excuse to dress in drag and get drunk was all good with him. He had to admit though, the man was authentic down to the most minute detail in looking like a military medic. There was almost nothing a replicator couldn't do these days.

"Peter, follow me." Jim instructed heading for what looked like an elevator. "There is someone I want you to meet." Peter did as he was asked and smiled when in their travels they came upon a frosted pane of glass with the familiar caduceus. "Bones!" Jim yelled as soon as he crossed the threshold.

"He is in his office." A blonde woman replied while she gave Peter the once over with a meaningful smirk. Peter chuckled both at the woman's not-so-subtle flirting and Jim's stunned reaction to it.

"Don't you have some cells to look at or something, Nurse Chapel?" He asked with mock indignity. She rolled her eyes at him and with her body language clearly told him to get over it while she led them to a door that read, " CMO." Jim paused and whispered to Peter, "Hang out here for a minute…this may take a little doing. Ignore any profanities or loud noises you may hear, we are friends I swear."

Peter nodded but wondered what he had gotten himself into. As a paramedic he was around doctors all the time, so he knew that some could have God complexes and he was starting to rethink the advisability of letting someone like that near Sylar. As far as he knew, nothing in the universe was bigger than his ego and what made him especially dangerous was he could back it up 6 ways until Sunday and he would no doubt enjoy every minute of it. He casually leaned against the wall and smiled nervously when he noticed the nurse still peeking at him from across the room.

"Bones!" Jim declared leaning on the doctor's desk with a broad smile.

McCoy didn't even look up from his PADD. "I heard you screaming like a lunatic when you came in. You didn't need to come in here to announce your presence."

Ordinarily Jim would have had some kind of witty comeback for his cranky friend, but he was bubbling over with excitement and he just wanted to cut to the chase. "You will never guess what happened down there."

"Knowing you, probably not." McCoy agreed.

"I found them, Bones. They are real." He almost whispered earning himself a harsh scowl. McCoy wasn't really one for theatrics. "_Evolved humans_." He smiled.

McCoy didn't even flinch. "Did you get hit in the head or something? Where is Spock?" He demanded. "I know that hobgoblin wouldn't have the stones to lie to me, unlike you."

"I'm not lying, Bones." Jim laughed. He couldn't blame his friend, he knew he sounded crazy. "And I am fine. Really, they exist and Spock is having them beamed up as we speak."

McCoy sighed deeply. He had known Jim for a long time now, long enough to know that he was telling the truth which only meant he had suffered some kind of psychotic break. He should have seen it coming, what with the whole Nero thing and a half dozen other near death experiences he had racked up, that kind of stress would get to a man sooner or later. And it looked like for Jim it was magical people from the past when it just as easily could have been fairies or leprechauns. To each his own. "Look, Jim…" McCoy began slowly putting his PADD on his desk, "I don't know what happened down there, but evolved humans are a myth- like unicorns or something. They didn't exist then and they can't be here now."

Jim smiled so wide McCoy could almost count all of his teeth. "I thought you would say that. I want you to meet Peter."

McCoy watched as Jim opened the door and pulled a young man inside. He couldn't say much for his choice in clothing, but the doctor in him immediately recognized the stethoscope that hung around his neck. He had seen pictures of them before, but never an actual one since it was a crude way to gather diagnostic data. They hadn't been used for centuries.

"Bones, Peter Petrelli. Peter, Dr. Leonard McCoy, the ship's CMO." Peter and McCoy nodded tensely at each other.

Whatever delusion Jim was having, he had roped someone else into it, McCoy thought grimly. One crazy person was bad enough without a party of them running loose on the ship. "So, you are an evolved human?" He asked completely unconvinced. He was never any good at the psychology bit of medicine, but he did know that you were supposed to play along with the fantasies of crazy people least you upset them even more and he had two of them in a very confined space.

Before Peter could answer, Jim broke in excitedly. "Do the floaty thing for him!"

Peter smiled lightly and corrected, "It is called telekinesis." He dutifully stretched out his hand toward the PADD and gently lifted it from a distance of at least 5 feet- far enough away not to be accused of it being an optical illusion or some kind of magic trick.

McCoy sat stunned watching the PADD hover at eye level above his desk. All he could think was how it was just like Jim to have a unicorn sneak up behind him and kick him in the ass with a golden hoof.

******************************************************************************

Matt Parkman paced nervously across Peter's living room floor while Ando and Mohinder looked on from the kitchen. "I just…I just can't friggin' believe it!" He exclaimed exasperated. "I mean what the hell! He is one of us too, has he forgotten he can friggin' fly?!" He asked no one in particular.

"He always has a plan." Mohinder mused in his British accent. "There is always some behind the scenes power play. The question is, what does he have to gain from all this?"

"You never can tell with him." Noah answered darkly. "All we know is that he is out for blood…even his own."

Ando looked at Noah as he sat tensely in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees. He never remembered seeing him quite like that. No matter what the situation was, Bennet was always calm, cool, and collected but now it was all he could do to keep from falling apart. "Have you been able to contact Claire yet?" He asked quietly.

Noah shook his head slowly and a desperate smile crossed his face. "You know how college life is. Probably too busy to call her old man back."

"She will." Matt declared calmly. "She's ok, Noah. You have to believe that." Noah nodded, but he knew the odds. All he could do was hold out hope that she was ok, and if Nathan did have her already, he prayed that the father in him would keep him from killing his own child no matter his agenda. Nathan had spared her once, hopefully he could find it in himself to do it again. And if he couldn't, his days were numbered and no amount of power or privilege would save him from Noah's wrath. Nathan may have been her biological father, but he was the one who tucked her in and changed her diapers and kept her safe from those that would harm her for all those years.

Hiro returned and everyone looked at him expectantly. "Hiro!" Ando greeted with a smile and then addressed him in Japanese so the others wouldn't understand. "How are you, my friend?" The concern in his voice was evident, but Hiro smiled bravely even though he felt drained.

"Hiro," Noah said standing up slowly "can you take more than two at a time?" The small Japanese man bowed slightly with determination although he feared his powers were failing. He just had to concentrate harder, he told himself. "Good. Then I want you to take Ando, Matt, and Mohinder. When you get back, we have one last mission."

Mohinder looked alarmed. "Why am I going? I have no special abilities."

"Two reasons." Noah stated. "One- Nathan will find you too because you know them, you are a witness to their existence and that makes you dangerous. I am sure he can put you to work in a lab somewhere slicing and dicing them to find out what makes them tick. And two- you might be more useful where they are going."

He looked apprehensive, but he put on a brave face as he joined the others in a circle around Hiro. "I have never seen the future." He admitted with a dry laugh. "Is it at least a nice place?" Hiro beamed and pushed up his glasses after a vigorous nod. "Alright then." He reached out and placed his hand on Hiro's arm.

Hiro leaned in close to Ando and whispered in Japanese, "Could you give me a little push?"

Ando's eyes widened slightly because that was as close as his friend had ever come to admitting he needed help and it worried him to think that they all might end up elsewhere than they intended. But he said nothing and discretely fired up the pink energy in his right hand that hovered behind his friend's back so no one else would know- unless Parkman was eavesdropping in which case he would have to think in Japanese.

Noah waited until they were gone to pull out his cell phone and once again dial Claire's number. He knew he would get her voicemail again and he had already left two messages, but he felt compelled to keep trying. He had to.

******************************************************************************

Spock was starting to get used to people just appearing out of nowhere. He justified it by thinking that it was much like a transporter, only Hiro was able to move across the time space continuum while a traditional transporter could only transverse distance on a lateral plane. In either event the result was the same: people vanishing and reappearing elsewhere. Of course he would require more detail to fully flesh out the mechanics of it all, but that would have to do for now.

As he waited quietly for the next batch to arrive, he reflected on the improbability of this entire venture. He had been serving aboard the Enterprise for 3 years with Jim Kirk and if there was anything that he had learned during that time it was that events- especially those involving humans and doubly so if Jim was in on it- were aggravatingly unpredictable and prone to mind boggling statistical anomalies. This was not the way the universe was supposed to work, yet it was almost his daily experience.

How could he have known when he got up that morning that by nightfall he would be waiting outside an establishment of questionable repute in the middle of a cornfield to serve as an ambassador to evolved humans from the long past? In some ways he resented the whole affair. The powers that be could have given him some kind of hint or tip off that strange things were afoot, but no. Once more, fate saw fit to bitch slap him and all of his logic. And so he waited, trying desperately to salvage some kind of rationale for it all because to not have some plausible theory for the night's events was simply intolerable to him. The universe could not run on chaos alone, even if Jim Kirk was involved.


	5. Chapter 5 Waking the Dead

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who have reviewed this crazy concept of a story! For the purposes of storyline flow, I have taken away Sylar's shape shifting ability but he still has plenty more ways in which to wreak havoc. He can do without 1. Cheers!**

**Chapter 5- Waking the Dead**

Hiro didn't tell Noah that he had got lost on the way home, but he did. His powers were fading and he found himself in New Mexico instead of New York. He assumed it was about the same year, but the adobe buildings were constructed to withstand the test of time, so he couldn't really say. Thankfully it was late and no one saw him collapse in the street where he lay for a few minutes trying to recover. He carefully wiped away the blood that streamed from his nose and held his head to dull the sharp pain that had developed. He knew he was pushing his limits, but Bennet said there was only 1 more mission and then he could rest. He couldn't quit now.

Noah noticed the fine red dust that covered Hiro's clothing, but thought it best not to ask. He debated it all the way to Queens, but there was no other way to get the job done and keep his promise to Jim Kirk. They had stopped off at a small greasy spoon diner on the way so Hiro could refuel on waffles and French fries before facing the hardest task of this whole venture. He looked down at the shorter Asian man and asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hiro watched Sylar pass in front of his apartment windows from across the street. It seemed he was agitated and had a scowl on his face- but then again Hiro never remembered him being any other way. He hadn't dealt much with the former watchmaker after Kirby Plaza, but he had heard the stories and like everyone else just preferred to avoid him if at all possible. He knew that Sylar would slice his head open in an instant to get his power if he had half a chance and aside from a strong will to survive, he felt a deep responsibility to keep him from adding that particular trick to his bag. That power in his hands would be devastating and he knew he would not use it with honor. He nodded once to answer Noah because even though Sylar frightened him at a primal level, he knew that no matter what happened he could get away by simply disappearing. This was the only reason Sylar had not collected his power yet.

Noah led them to the fourth floor of the old brownstone walk-up and looked around at the dingy, dark hallway. This was just the place a serial killer would find comforting, he thought. Low profile, easy to escape from the multiple exits, dark so no one notices you. Perfect. He paused at the door of the apartment he knew was Sylar's and picked up a magazine that lay on the floor. He turned it in the dim light and smiled when he saw it was the latest edition of the IKEA catalog. He nodded at Hiro to be ready as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Sylar stopped in his tracks at the sound of the thunderous banging on his door. He looked around slowly, planning his next move and wondering who the hell was at his door. Initially he thought it would be Nathan's men, but would they really be so polite as to knock first? In his experience they were more the kick down the door and shout questions later type. "Who is it?" He growled.

"Noah Bennet." Came a familiar voice. "I came to tell you that you are in danger."

No shit, Sylar thought. One step ahead as usual, Bennet. He looked through the peephole of his door because he did not have x-ray vision and saw his former partner and current nemesis alone in the hallway. Warily he opened the door against his better judgment and cursed himself when he watched a hand grab Bennet's wrist because he knew instantly who that hand belonged to and he also knew that once Hiro had succeeded in freezing time he would be powerless to defend himself.

In all his time working with people with abilities, it never ceased to amaze him what they could do, Noah thought to himself as he slowly moved around Sylar's static form to toss the catalog onto a side table. In the blink of an eye Hiro was able to tame the lion so to speak. He noted the open suitcase partially filled with clothing on the bed of the immaculate studio apartment. It looked like they had got there just in time. He wrapped his arms around Sylar's chest and drug him backwards away from the door so Hiro could close it.

Hiro looked around while Noah rummaged through the kitchen drawers. He noted stacks of books and it reminded him of the first time he had ever come face to face with the watchmaker as he was then. He was in his mother's apartment and Ando urged him to freeze time and run him through with his sword right then and there, but Hiro considered it cheating and a coward's way out. He wanted to face him directly and as soon as he returned time to its normal state, Sylar grabbed his sword and froze it to the point the steel shattered. He couldn't help but wonder if the Bushido code was always right. Had he listened to Ando, Sylar would have died just as Isaac's painting had predicted and it would have spared many lives. Who knew how many people had fallen victim to him.

"This should do it." Noah announced holding up a large carving knife. "Hold him steady."

Hiro placed one hand on the immobile man's chest and one on his forehead to brace him for what was to come. There was no honor in this, but time was of the essence. As he stood there he couldn't help but think that just under his left hand was approximately the place where his sword had entered and the bad man was left bleeding and dying in the plaza square. Just how he managed to survive was still a mystery to them because he didn't have Claire's healing ability then. It only added to his legend of near invincibility.

There was a bit of a push and a sickening crunching sound as Noah drove the knife deep into the back of his skull. Hiro held firm, but felt a little queasy. He knew that this wouldn't kill Sylar, it would only place him in a state of suspension until the knife was removed, but still it seemed barbaric. On Noah's cue, Hiro unfroze time and together they watched as Sylar gasped slightly before sinking to his knees and falling over, his dark eyes slowly turning an opaque white.

******************************************************************************

Hiro was careful not to reappear inside the bar as he did the last time. An apparently dead man with a knife in the back of his head would be a tough thing to explain. Not that the green man waiting for them had an easier time of it judging by the way he stared at Sylar's limp form hanging by his arms between he and Noah.

Scotty once more fired up the transporter to beam up what Spock said was the final group of four. The last batch was a motley looking group, and you would swear they had never seen the inside of a ship before the way they ogled all wide eyed. Chekov escorted them to the upper decks as he was asked although he didn't know what was going on any more than they did. Scotty watched as four forms appeared on the pad and laughed in delight despite himself because the zombie with the knife in his head was simply the best costume he had seen all day! He stopped laughing though when Spock called for medical assistance.

The sickbay was full of onlookers all gathered around the new arrival's body as he lay face down on a biobed. Jim and Spock looked disturbed at the sheer brutality of the wound while Peter and Noah appeared completely unaffected.

Although he shouldn't have felt the need to state the obvious, McCoy turned to his friend and said, "He's dead, Jim."

"Actually, he isn't." Peter interjected.

McCoy turned to the young man absolutely incredulous. "The man has a large blade lodged in the back of his brain." He pointed at the quiet monitor above the bed. "And he has no heartbeat or respiration activity. His brain is dead, therefore he _is_ dead."

"With all due respect, Doctor," Noah smiled, "Peter is right. I know it looks bad, but he isn't dead. Believe me, I wish it were that easy. He is in a state of suspended animation that he will wake up from the moment you pull that knife out of his head."

McCoy had seen and heard a lot of crazy things since he had joined Starfleet. But as far as he knew, the basic tenants of medicine were cosmological constants. If the body before him lacked any sign of biological activity, it was a pretty sure sign that he was dead. And death, he was fairly certain, was a chronic condition with a very poor prognosis.

"He will wake up because he has the ability to rapidly heal, just like me." Peter explained. "But if you disrupt the brain stem's basic functioning, his body can't heal like it normally would because his system is essentially shut down. When you remove the knife, the tissue will again heal, but it can't as long as the knife is creating a barrier."

The logic behind Peter's explanation made perfect sense to Spock, but the outcome still seemed improbable. Jim, for one, was willing to suspend all judgment because he didn't know what to think after what he had witnessed over the past hour or so. McCoy, however, couldn't believe anyone was taking this seriously. A magic trick was one thing, but this was a whole new level of insanity to think this man was some kind of Lazarus figure that could miraculously awake from the dead. Dead was dead no matter how you sliced it and he had witnessed enough of it over the course of his career to know it when he saw it.

"You are a man of science, I can appreciate that." Noah nodded with a smile. "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof, I get it. But believe me when I tell you that removing the knife from his head in the name of experimentation is the last thing you want to do. I wasn't joking when I said he is perhaps the most powerful evolved human in existence and trust me when I say that you do not want him awake and in a state of full consciousness. You have no idea the things he is capable of." He waited a moment to let the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. "However, as we are here for a specific purpose, I can demonstrate my point. Peter?"

Peter's face went pale as it dawned on him what Noah was getting at. He had only experienced suspended animation once when Sylar sprayed glass shards at him in Mohinder's apartment and as he recalled, it was not a pleasant experience. Still, he couldn't agree more with Noah's assertion that these people had no idea what Sylar could do and to wake him was opening a veritable Pandora's box of mayhem and misery. He knelt by Sylar's bed and placed his head on the edge with a sigh. "Just make it quick." He requested. He let out a small groan as Noah plunged a nearby scalpel deep into his head. Everyone watched as his eyes were covered with a milky white film after he had fallen to the floor.

"Sweet Jesus!" McCoy yelled rushing to Peter's still body. Regrettably people had died in his sickbay before, but never had someone been outright murdered.

"Go ahead and examine him." Noah said panting slightly from the adrenaline and exertion. "When he is dead enough for you, take the scalpel out and watch him wake up. Take your time, he can wait."

McCoy was speechless and enraged that he had been forced into this grotesque charade, but he tended to the young man as he would any other. He checked for a pulse and found none, listened for a heartbeat but Peter's chest was silent. Tried to elicit a few reflexes, but his limbs did not respond. Just to be certain, he ran a tricorder over him, but even the sensitive instrument could not pick up any sign of activity. Peter was unequivocally dead. He looked back at Jim and Spock before grasping the handle of the scalpel and giving it a good tug.

It was like waking from a deep sleep and Peter gasped as he began to regain consciousness. The fog cleared from his mind and the paralysis that held him still began to loosen its grip. He blinked his muddy green eyes rapidly until the film dissipated and he could again see. The wound in the back of his head tingled as the tissues and nerves knitted back together in perfect formation. He sat up with a sigh and accepted Noah's outstretched hand to stand. He looked at Dr. McCoy still kneeling where he had lain and smiled. "See? Good as new."

It was at that moment that McCoy gave up ever again trying to understand the world he lived in. Everything that he had known and believed in up until then was sucked out into the void of space. He had just witnessed a resurrection.


	6. Chapter 6 Power Outage

**Chapter 6- Power Outage**

Matt pressed his palms against the cold glass that separated him from the vast darkness of space in utter awe and disbelief. The blonde kid that led them up here had said that this was the cafeteria and offered him food, but although he was hungry he was drawn to the large bay window that made the entire wall. He was quickly joined by the others and together they observed in silence.

Chekov hung back, setting up a file in his PADD in order to allow them a moment to adjust. He had been on the ship for a few years now, but it had never become routine to him. The wonder was never lost and even still he found himself at the very same window on nights that he couldn't sleep to look for answers among the points of light in the darkness. He squinted when the instructions from Spock came through. He read it again and shook his head, but followed his orders. "Excuse me," he interrupted quietly, "I vill need to ask your names for the ship's registry and assign quarters to you."

"Ando Masahashi" The Asian man stated turning away from the window.

Chekov nodded and spelled the man's last name as best he could guess. "And….your… ability?" He asked timidly. He had no idea what Spock meant by that, but he knew he had better get the information or else come up with a damn good excuse for why he didn't.

Ando laughed, noting the discomfort of the young man in the gold shirt. "I can supercharge the abilities of others. And I can shoot the energy from my hands if I have to."

Chekov tried to keep a straight face as he dutifully typed in Ando's response not having a clue what it all meant.

"He doesn't believe you." Matt chuckled. "He thinks you are friggin' nuts." Chekov looked up sharply from his PADD. "Matt Parkman. I can read minds." Matt laughed again and said, "No, really, I can. Who's Sulu?"

Chekov nearly dropped his PADD.

**********************************************************************************

"This isn't right." McCoy grumbled looking down at Sylar's prone body in the isolation room. The nurses had removed his wet, bloody clothing and dressed him in plain white cotton pajamas. The knife had been removed and in its place was a steady drip of a powerful drug at a dose that would kill the average human.

Noah removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. "I'm not telling you how to do your job, Doc."

"Well, thanks for that." McCoy growled.

"But I will say this," He went on completely undeterred, "if the flow of that neuroanesthetic stops and he wakes up, prepare for Hell to be unleashed. He can rip this entire ship to shreds if he wanted to. Now Peter has some of the same powers that Sylar does, but we would prefer to avoid a show down in a confined space. As long as the drug keeps him under you can go to town."

McCoy looked across the man's body at Noah in disgust. "I can't just use him like a lab rat without his consent!" He hissed. "He may be some kind of a criminal, but he still has rights."

Noah nodded. "I would normally agree with you, but we need your advanced capabilities to save them. I do not know how Nathan is doing it, but somehow he has figured out a way to neutralize their powers and kill them. If I can't understand how their powers work, I can't save them. If you can crack the mystery with him- the one who is the most evolved- then we have a chance."

McCoy hung his head. This went against everything he stood for as a doctor. He had taken an oath to do no harm, but what was the greater disservice: ignoring the rights of one or condemning an entire race of people? He looked down at the dark features of his patient. Bennet had said he had killed many times, often in cruel and inhumane ways. Even when he was defenseless he looked menacing, so it wasn't so hard to believe.

"I have talked with Peter and he has agreed to also be studied." Noah went on. "With Sylar out, you won't be able to get much data on his powers in action, although at least one works without his volition." He removed his gun from his holster and fired one round directly into Sylar's chest. Sylar reflexively jumped and coughed a spray of bright red blood that covered his lips and chin.

"What…" McCoy yelled, ears still ringing from the gun blast. "Have you lost your mind?!"

Noah ripped the hole in the shirt open wide and said, "Pull yourself together and watch or we will have to do it again." McCoy watched in amazement as the man's body rejected the spent projectile and the wound closed, not leaving so much as a scar. "I know these people better than they know themselves," Noah stated in a low voice, "I know what they can and cannot do. I am telling you that Peter and Sylar are the strongest of them and they can take whatever you got. I brought a geneticist who is familiar with them as well. Hopefully he can be of assistance."

McCoy wiped away the blood from Sylar's mouth and placed the slug in a specimen jar. "So what is it you do?" He asked with a squint. "What is your power?"

"I don't have one." Noah admitted sliding the gun back into its shoulder holster.

"Then why get involved?" The doctor continued. "Why do you care if their species dies out?"

Noah looked McCoy directly in the eye and with utter conviction answered, "Because my daughter is one of them. She is the reason both Peter and Sylar have the ability to rapidly heal."

McCoy noted the raw emotion in his voice and asked, "Were you able to bring her aboard?"

"No." Noah sighed placing his hands on his hips. "She is still back…then… I guess. I tried to contact her, but I was unsuccessful."

McCoy placed the specimen jar on a nearby tray and took a deep breath. "I have a little girl myself," he admitted, "and if I thought for one second that she was in danger there is no corner of Hell I wouldn't scour to get her back."

It seemed that this kind of honesty wasn't normal for the salty doctor, which made it all the more real. Noah had planned on going back once everyone was safe, but he could tell that Hiro needed to rest. He had already asked too much of him as it was. The men took leave of Sylar and McCoy personally instructed the charge nurse to not let anyone near him unless it was to replace the IV drip. They joined Spock, Peter, and Jim in McCoy's office.

"Believe me now, Bones?" Jim gently ribbed.

"If I may make a suggestion," Spock interjected, "it may be premature to advise Starfleet of our guest's arrival. I think it would be best for all if we delayed notification until we can better ascertain the situation."

"I agree." McCoy sighed. "I think we should wait. If Starfleet knew what they could do, they may want to take them back to the Academy. I think they should stay here where we…" he glanced up at Peter and noted his dismayed expression, "…_they_ can have more control over what they participate in."

"Ok." Jim nodded folding his arms across his chest. "That makes sense. I won't breathe a word to Starfleet until we have some definitive data. In the meantime, I will have my staff show you to your quarters and get you started on our databases tomorrow to try to figure out what happened."

******************************************************************************

Hiro wandered the brightly lit, slightly curved hallways aimlessly in search of the cafeteria. Peter had told him that was where everyone was waiting, including his friend Ando. He would have thought that there would be signs posted along the way to direct him, but so far the only thing he had noticed were a few people dressed like the two men in the bar. His face lit up when he noted another Asian face- the first he had seen since his arrival.

Sulu had spent most of his day prepping the ship for its eventual take-off. It was tedious work, a checklist really, and he was glad to be done with it. Things had actually been rolling along until his friend Chekov had been called away for some other duty in the transporter room and he was left to finish the job by himself. He made a mental note to ask Chekov what was so important over dinner when he came upon an unfamiliar face. "Are you lost?" He asked curiously as it was obvious the man had no idea where he was.

"Kon'nichi wa" Hiro greeted with a deep bow befitting someone he had never met before. "I am looking for cafeteria." He carefully annunciated.

Sulu smiled and gave a slight bow in return. He hadn't observed that particular custom in ages and he wondered where the odd man had come from. "Yeah, 10 forward. I am going there myself, you can follow me if you want." He replied slowly. It was apparent that English was not the man's first language and that was strange given how close to Earth they were. "I'm Sulu." He added.

"Hiro Nakamura." The man said with another bow as they walked. "It is very nice to meet you."

As they waited for a turbolift, Sulu tried to make small talk. "So, Hiro, what brings you to the Enterprise?"

"I came with other special people. Our time is not safe. Jim Kirk let us stay." The man replied pushing his glasses up on his face.

"Okaaay." Sulu sighed looking straight ahead. It would just figure that Jim would have his hands in some strange event. "So, _special_, huh?"

"Yes. I can bend time and space." He replied with confidence. He could tell by the way Sulu looked to the side and pursed his lips as he nodded that he didn't believe him. "I will show you." Hiro placed his hand on Sulu's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut tight, but nothing happened. He tried again, but when he opened his eyes, Sulu was looking at him in complete confusion. He tried once more, but this time a sharp pain in his head sent him to his knees and he could feel blood flowing from his nose in a steady stream.

"Hiro?" Sulu called kneeling beside him. "Are you ok? Hiro?" He sounded so far away. "Sulu to Medical. I need assistance on deck 8 by the lift."


	7. Chapter 7 Choices

**Chapter 7- Choices**

Nathan Petrelli sighed as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, and in a way he kind of did. It was 10:00am and his coffee was cold so he was left to face the pile of papers that he dreaded in less than good spirits. Not that he could ever face this daily horror with anything other than trepidation and loathing, but it was his job. Not one that he had ever asked for, mind you, but one that he had been more or less blackmailed into. Just another day as the junior Senator from New York.

He had no one to blame but himself, he thought as he reclined in his plush leather chair in his office. He looked over his Navy medals and pictures of him as a pilot that lined the walls. The young man that smiled back at him was so full of promise and hope. What had ever become of him? Somehow he had become twisted and molded by those who wanted a puppet in power to do their bidding and more and more it seemed they got what they wanted.

He never wanted it to be this way. He was no naïve rube, he grew up in a family that wielded power and called in favors at will so he knew how the game was played. He had no illusions when he ran for office that he would be untouchable, he knew how this town worked and how so much of politics was done by under the table deals, but this was something entirely different. He nervously shuffled the papers and put them back down on the desk. He just couldn't face them yet.

Although no one would ever believe him, he really did have good intentions at the start. He really did believe that if he could contain people with special abilities in a secret location he could ultimately save them. He knew it looked bad on the surface, and it appeared that he had sold them out so it was no surprise that they revolted. What did surprise him was that Bennet's involvement mucked things up even more rather than helping. To be fair, Nathan never did tell him the grand plan of political sleight of hand because rule #1 of the game was trust no one, but he would have thought that Noah would have picked up subtle hints like his repeated interventions when it came to Claire.

Claire. That was what this was all about. He looked at the papers again and noticed his heart beating a little faster. After the last house of cards collapsed, allies in the Senate and the Security Council on which he sat were looking for signs of loyalty. As far as he knew, Danko never got the chance to tell anyone what he knew- that he was one of them- so it was a little easier to operate under the radar and pull strings behind the scenes without the glare of a conflict of interest. He didn't know what really happened to Danko other than he just disappeared and frankly he didn't care. A small part of him actually hoped that Sylar had grown tired of him and turned on him as he invariably did when someone outlived their usefulness. If it wasn't for his predilection for murder, he would have made a great politician.

Because of his previous work, he was asked- check that- _told_ he would take charge of a new initiative to wipe out those with abilities. This time, it would be a black-ops job with no accountability as to methods or budget. Nathan didn't ask too many questions because truly he didn't want to know the answers, but from what he could gather once the individual was caught, they were disposed of quickly. No scientific study, no trial, no hope of escape.

And that was why he came to hate 10:00am because everyday like clockwork a list of "Neutralized Threats" came across his desk. Everyday he had to force himself to look through the list of names of people that were alive at this time yesterday but were gone today. Everyday his hands shook as he read the names because he felt sick at being associated with wholesale murder. It reminded him of Nazi Germany exterminating Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, Russians, political dissidents, and anyone else they found inferior or inconvenient. But mostly it was because he always wondered if today would be the day that he would read "Claire Bennet" or "Peter Petrelli".

******************************************************************************

Peter stepped back from Hiro's bedside as soon as Ando arrived. He smiled faintly as he watched Ando speak to him in Japanese, likely he was too embarrassed to say what he wanted to in English but Peter knew that the important thing was that Hiro had a friend to help him through this. So much of one's recovery depended on the amount of support they had.

Peter had personally witnessed the role that willpower played in traumatic events. He had seen people who were so badly injured in a car accident that there was no way they could survive long enough to be declared DOA at the hospital, yet they did and walked out a week or two later. He had also seen people die from minor incidents like a broken arm when they just didn't want to live anymore. And of course his time as a hospice nurse taught him that death often came when the person was ready and accepted it. It was a strange thing to be sure, but he didn't have to worry about Hiro. He was very much alive and was not one to just lie down and die over something like this.

"It just looks like a migraine that resulted in a nosebleed." McCoy shrugged as he spoke with Noah and Mohinder. "It does happen sometimes when the intracranial vascular pressure builds to the point that the much smaller capillaries that line the nose break. I gave him some pain medicine that should control the migraine, but I want to keep him here for observation."

"Of course." Mohinder agreed. "But perhaps there is something you should know. I have found that this is a common presentation when people with abilities push their limits when they use their power too much or attempt something that is too difficult."

"What do you mean?" McCoy asked with a squint.

"Well, take telekinesis for example. Peter has the ability to move objects from a distance, but his ability depends on the amount of control that he has. He may be able to lift a car, or perhaps even two if he concentrated hard enough, but eventually there will be too much mass to lift and he simply wouldn't have enough power to do it. Sylar can also lift things, but it seems that telekinesis is his primary power and one that he uses most of the time. As such, he has more control over it than Peter and can accomplish more with it. But even he would eventually reach a limit. I wouldn't think that he has enough power to say, alter the orbit of a planet."

"Jesus, I would hope not." McCoy mused.

"But to be clear, telekinesis is not his base power, it is just the one he most often uses." Noah stated. "His actual power- the original one he developed and the one that allows him to collect others- is intuitive aptitude. He can figure out complex systems very easily which is why he would be so dangerous around the workings of this ship. He could probably figure out how this whole ship runs in 20 minutes flat and that is information you do not want him to have."

"Scotty would love that." McCoy chuckled. "An engineer that could outdo him. So how exactly does he get powers by understanding how complex systems work?"

Mohinder and Noah exchanged uneasy glances. "He um…." Noah sighed scratching his head.

Mohinder smiled and in his smooth British accent began, "As you and I know, Dr. McCoy, the human brain is perhaps one of the most complex systems ever found in a natural environment. What Sylar does is make an incision by focusing his telekinetic power much like a gamma knife laterally across the forehead to remove the skull cap and expose the brain." He glanced nervously at Noah and continued. "To be completely honest we don't know what he does with the brain but he is somehow able to study how the power works and with this knowledge he replicates it."

Noah noted the disturbed look on McCoy's face. "Some of his early victims were missing the brain." He admitted with a shrug. "I don't know what he does with them. We initially thought that he was….well, eating them and that was how he was getting the powers, but most of his recent victims have been found with exposed but intact brain matter so he is doing it some other way."

McCoy walked up to the reinforced, thick Plexiglas wall that separated the isolation room from the rest of the unit and watched the mysterious man's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm despite being out cold. He checked the lock just to be sure because he was starting to get the creeps.

"Peter also has the ability to collect powers, he just does it in a much more socially acceptable way." Noah said. "His base power is empathetic mimicry. All he has to do is touch the person with the power and then remember how he felt around them to use it."

McCoy's head was spinning but he was trying to keep up. "So theoretically, Peter could go in there and touch Sylar to get all of his abilities?"

"Yes, but I highly doubt he would want to." Mohinder smiled. "Peter is not driven by a hunger for power as Sylar is. He can control when and from whom he gathers abilities."

"But that has come with practice." Noah countered. "There was a time when he couldn't selectively choose. The very first power he got came from Nathan almost by accident and he damn near killed himself trying to fly because he didn't know how to control it. The second came from Sylar- telekinesis- when Peter tried to save my daughter from him and they went for a freefall over a 30 foot wall onto concrete. Sylar tried to slow his fall by using his power and Peter was hanging onto him. And the third came from Claire. She went back to him while he was laying there and dying on the pavement. She gave him the ability to heal." He smiled faintly both at Peter's courage to intervene even when he didn't think he had any powers and for Claire, who unknowingly saved her uncle.

"Save the cheerleader, save the world." Peter laughed as he approached the group. "_That_ was a long time ago. Way back when I first met Hiro and Ando and none of us had a damn clue what we were doing." He looked back at the two men talking and smiled. "I still don't think we do."

"Wait." McCoy shook his head pointing at Sylar. "That man tried to kill your daughter? And you still want to save him?!"

Peter and Noah looked at Sylar's comatose body and shrugged. "He has tried to kill me too, but that was a long time ago. I think he is a lot smarter about how he picks and chooses his victims." Peter suggested.

"He almost killed me as well and did murder my father." Mohinder added with some hint of sadness. There were so many things he wished he had said to him. "But as Peter said, that was when everyone was just figuring out who they were and what it all meant. I hate him for what he did, but I also recognize that he as well as Peter may well be the next step in the evolutionary process. I have to believe that he will suffer for the things he has done, but it cannot be on my hands. The best way in which to honor my father's memory is to continue his work in figuring out how these powers work."

******************************************************************************

Matt almost jumped back when the door slid open all on its own and Chekov smiled. "The sensor is right there." He said pointing to a small pinhole in the doorframe. "And if you approach another door like mine, a chime vill let me know that you are outside."

"Creepy." Matt commented eyeing the sensor suspiciously.

"So this vill be your room as long as you stay." Chekov said with a sweeping gesture around the room. "The vashroom is beyond the vall over there." Matt took note of the partition that partially obscured a sink. "And the replicator is there." He pointed at a machine that looked a lot like a tube in the Jetsons. "Vhen you go out the door, the first room you vill come to vill be my friend Sulu. Mine is the one after that if you need any further assistance."

Matt was still staring at the replicator as he nodded absentmindedly. He hadn't the first clue what a replicator was or how to use one. Although the room was nice and the people there were hospitable, Matt wished he could be roomed near the others, people he was familiar with.

Almost as though he could read Matt's mind, Chekov went to the replicator and made a PADD. "You can read or play games vith this." He stated attempting to hand it to Matt while he backed away as though he were holding a live snake.

Matt had just watched the thing appear out of thin air and that more than spooked him a little. He didn't know what kind of voodoo the kid was using, but he didn't want any part of it. "Do you have some kind of power too?" He asked half laughing.

"No." Chekov answered innocently. "It is a replicator. It's what replicators do- they make things." He showed Matt how to turn it on and scroll through files.

Matt watched, but he had no intention of using the thing. Not because he was a technophobe or anything, although he had to admit he was a bit slow in jumping on the cell phone wagon…and the HDTV thing…and perhaps he was a bit skeptical of compact fluorescent bulbs as well, but he politely indulged the kid and quickly thanked him. The truth was, reading was the last thing he wanted to do. Dyslexia was not an easy thing to live with and it pretty much made the term leisure reading an oxymoron, but he wasn't going to tell the kid that. That was something that he had only plucked up the courage to tell his wife Janice and then only because he had failed the LAPD detective exam three times. He hated it because it made him feel stupid when he knew he wasn't.

After the kid left, he sat on the bed and tossed the PADD aside. He tried to gather his thoughts because he had felt absolutely numb ever since Bennet showed up at his door and more or less told him to leave or die. What kind of a choice was that?!

He didn't ask for this stupid ability. He just wanted to be a cop, that was all. He just wanted to do an honest day's work and maybe, just maybe help someone in the process. But here he was sometime in the far future sitting on a spaceship with absolutely no clue of where to go from there. A spaceship? _Really_? Would he ever see Janice again? The two had decided to separate, but he would probably never stop caring about her. What he wanted in the worst way was to just have a beer and watch a football game to get his mind off things, but it seemed unlikely.

He jumped slightly when a beeping sound echoed through the room. "H..hello?" he called. He felt stupid, but he remembered the kid saying the door would let him know when someone was outside. He got up and went to the door when it beeped again and it opened for him. The Chekov kid was with another man in a yellow shirt.

"It is time for dinner." Chekov smiled. "If you are hungry, Sulu and I vould like for you to join us." Matt nodded in acceptance. If he was going to stay on the ship for awhile, he might as well make some friends in the process.


	8. Chapter 8 A Matter of Etiquette

**Chapter 8- A Matter of Etiquette **

Peter smiled as he surveyed the full dining room. The nurse who had been blatantly undressing him with her eyes was still shooting him occasional glances, but it seemed as though her crush had run its course and was now more curiosity than lust. As it appeared there was something between her and Jim, he thought it best to just steer clear of the whole mess. Jim seemed like an amicable kind of guy, but just under the surface was an intensity that reminded him of someone who would not hesitate to mess your day up if you crossed him. Not that Peter couldn't defend himself, in fact it would be quite easy, but that was no way to thank the man who had agreed to let him stay on his spaceship until the Nathan thing could be unraveled.

"Can you believe it?!" Mohinder gushed with a look of awe on his face. "I just made lamb pasanda from a machine! I pushed a few buttons and it just materialized. What a wonderful thing!"

Ando looked at his plate of noodles and frowned. "Yeah, but how does it taste?" He just couldn't get up the courage to put the frankenfood in his mouth. That kind of thing just couldn't be good for you.

"Not bad." Noah answered swallowing a bite of his pulled pork sandwich. "I've had better, but not bad." He scooted over toward Mohinder to make room for Matt, Chekov, and Sulu. He made it a point to remember their names because you just never knew when it would come in handy.

"Kinda like high school, 'eh guys?" Matt laughed digging into his mashed potatoes. "All the freaks sit together."

"Then I think we are at the wrong table, Chekov." Sulu stated. Matt began to apologize for his off the cuff remark, but he waved him off with a smile. He got it and it wasn't like he and Chekov weren't considered a bit odd for being overachievers anyway.

"So, I spoke with Dr. McCoy and he wants to begin testing first thing tomorrow." Peter announced. His spaghetti was less than satisfactory, so he abandoned it and decided to spend the time talking with the others. It was a shame because he really was hungry, but it seemed rude to insult the dinner the machine had made and worse yet to ask for seconds. If there was anything he had learned throughout the many black tie soirées he had attended with his family among New York's elite it was to never insult the host. Perhaps he could force himself to eat a few more bites to keep up appearances and hope his stomach didn't growl too loudly.

"Yes, I am also meeting with him to share what we know so far." Mohinder added. "I hope that with his advanced technology we can look deeper into the genome for clues as to how your powers work. I just feel so antiquated, I hope I can be of some assistance."

"I am sure you will, Mohinder. That is why I asked you to come. I knew this opportunity would be too good for you to pass up." Noah smiled.

"Whoa, whoa." Matt protested. "Testing us? We came here to be guinea pigs? I didn't agree to that!"

"Relax," Peter laughed, "thanks to you I can read minds too, remember? They won't need to test you."

"That's right." Noah agreed. "I actually had a much more useful task in mind for you. We really could use your investigative skills to help sort through the databanks of information to try and figure out what Nathan was doing so we can stop him."

Matt smirked, but he didn't know which was worse: reading or being experimented on. "Uh...sure. I guess." He mumbled into his mashed potatoes.

"So, how is Hiro doing?" Sulu asked sensing the tension at the table.

"He will be fine." Mohinder answered simply. "How rude of us to talk shop with two uninformed guests at the table."

"Sorry guys." Peter apologized. "You must be a little confused."

"It is fine." Chekov shrugged. "The Captain has not briefed us yet, but I am sure he vill."

"Yeah, it isn't like we aren't used to completely random and bizarre things happening out of the blue. You kinda just get used to it after awhile." Sulu sighed.

"I know what you mean." Peter stated. "Even though we can do all these strange things ourselves, sitting here right now still feels impossible. At least to me it does."

"Me too." Matt agreed. "I can read people's minds, but I can't believe I am sitting on a spaceship in the future. How bizarre is that?"

Mohinder was listening, but his mind was preoccupied with spinning theories about potential places to look for anomalies within the strands of DNA and trying to run correlations between powers and mutations. He was excited about having the chance to complete his father's work, but a little nervous about collecting the data from Sylar. He had Sylar's blood in his hands at his lab when he was developing a vaccine for the Shanti virus. He should have ran tests then, but he didn't. Now he had a second chance and he wasn't going to let this one pass him by. He suppressed a smile as he imagined himself pushing a needle deeper into Sylar's vein than necessary. He wouldn't be conscious to suffer, but it would make him feel better. He snapped to attention when Matt's fork fell to his plate with a loud clatter.

Matt's eyes were wide and his face pale. "Sylar is _here_?" He almost whispered. He felt a knot clench in his stomach. "You brought him on this ship? Have you lost your friggin' mind?!

Mohinder was never a good liar and apparently even worse at shielding his thoughts. "Hasn't anyone told you it is rude to read other people's minds without permission?" He retorted sharply.

"I wasn't!" Matt defended. "I wasn't sifting through your head, it was so strong you might as well have been yelling!"

Mohinder sat back in his chair and laughed. "Are you accusing me of thinking too loudly?"

"Gentlemen," Noah interrupted with a tense smile, "let's not be disrespectful guests. Sylar is on the ship, but he is heavily sedated and is not a threat to anyone."

"Bullshit." Matt hissed. "You know him as well as I do. Somehow, someway he will rise up like Godzilla to destroy everything. He always does. I don't care if you cut him up into fish bait and scatter the pieces all over the planet, he would bump into you walking down the street the next day!"

"Really?" Sulu asked with great interest. Rumors had begun to swirl like a hurricane around the ship about the mysterious serial killer that was being held in sickbay. Murderers were exceedingly rare in the first place, but someone who had reportedly killed hundreds was astounding. At least that was what he had heard from one of the engineers earlier. Normally Sulu was not a man to engage in idle gossip, but he just couldn't help himself. "Is it true he can make your head explode if you look him in the eye?" He heard that one from the med tech that responded to his call for Hiro.

Peter hung his head as he laughed. "He isn't a demigod no matter what he thinks. No, he can't make your head explode by looking at him."

"Hang around him for more than three seconds and you will want to blow your own head off." Matt groused. "The man is an absolute dick."

"Don't let him get to you, Matt." Noah encouraged. "He is in a medically induced coma as we speak. Dr. McCoy has been advised to handle him with care and we have to trust that he will."

"You have obviously never had one of his physicals." Chekov laughed.

"Is that what I have to look forward to tomorrow?" Peter asked worried. He was never really a fan of being worked over, but the thought of the whole turn your head and cough thing was especially terrifying.

* * *

Spock navigated the hallways with a sense of purpose, causing others to get out of his way. He was not physically intimidating as far as his stature went. He was almost slight in comparison with his slim, yet toned frame and still others nearly tripped over themselves. He had been summoned to his Captain's personal quarters and this was a bit unusual, so he didn't take the time to ponder the phenomenon and instead concentrated on getting from point A to point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. Anything less would be illogical. When he reached his destination, he stood at attention and asked, "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Relax, Spock." Jim laughed kicking his feet up on his desk. "We are off duty, remember?"

"Indeed." Spock agreed releasing a slight bit of tension in his muscles, but otherwise remained in the same position.

"Right." Jim sighed defeated. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you to work with our new guests on the database thing tomorrow. Just get them started and then hand it off to someone else if you have other things to do."

"I do not foresee any pressing matters that will require me to delegate my duties." He replied. Jim rubbed his head to ease the tension that had formed. It had been a very long day; why couldn't he just say 'fine' or 'ok?' Hell, even being flipped off would be easier. "I must admit that this situation is concerning."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked sitting up. It wasn't often that Spock was so forthcoming with his doubts.

"One would have to wonder if their presence is not a violation of the prime directive." He said in a low tone.

Well, at least he didn't beat around the bush, Jim thought. "They asked _me_ for help, Spock."

"Even so, it is a violation to expose pre-warp civilizations to advanced technology or to interfere with the natural course of events." He persisted with his maddeningly consistent logic. "Even if it means extinction."

"But are they really pre-warp when they can time travel?" Jim asked playing devil's advocate. "That is actually _more_ advanced than warp capability! We can only manipulate space when they can jump time. And honestly Spock, tell me that if you could go back you wouldn't change the course of events on Vulcan."

Spock felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. Even after the intervening years, the pain and horror was fresh in his mind. "I would not." He replied quietly. "Events unfolded as they were meant to and to wish to go back and change the outcome would be an act of selfishness."

Jim nodded and had to admit that Spock was a better man than he was. Selfish or not, if it was Earth that was demolished he wouldn't hesitate to go back. And as he saw it, that was what the evolved humans were doing; they were fighting for their lives and that didn't seem in the least bit selfish to him.

"Additionally," Spock continued regaining his usual business like tone, "the Sylar individual appears to be a potential danger to the ship and the crew. We must have a plan in place in the event a security breach occurs."

"I don't think there is much we can do." Jim laughed sarcastically. "It sounds like he is damn near invincible. You saw it with your own eyes, Spock. He was dead and then he wasn't. How do you deal with someone like that?"

"Everyone, no matter powerful, has a weakness. We must discover his and exploit it if necessary." He persisted.

"It sounds like our only defense is Peter for now. Still, I will talk to Bones and Noah tomorrow and see what we can find out." Jim yawned. "He has to have an Achilles heel, we just have to find it."

"I certainly hope we will not require it, but I think it is wise." Spock nodded. "Rest well, Captain."

"Jim! For Christ sake, call me Jim!" He cried rubbing his face vigorously. Spock smirked as he took leave.


	9. Chapter 9 Nothing Special

**A/N: Ok…I know that Sylar lost the thermonuclear power he got from Ted Sprague when he contracted the Shanti virus, but I can give as well as I can take away. So Poof! He has it again. Shazam! **

**Chapter 9- Nothing Special**

Peter wiped away the sweat that dripped into his eyes for the hundredth time, but he kept his pace- feet pounding steadily on the treadmill, breathing in and out in a controlled manner while Dr. McCoy stood at his side with an electronic clipboard and made notes. It had been a long morning of tests for Peter. He had a complete physical including blood work and urine samples, every part of him was measured, he was hooked up to electrodes to measure electrical currents that flowed through his nervous system, he was scanned from head to toe with some kind of laser although he didn't ask what it was for, and his reaction times were observed. And through it all he was forbidden to use any of his powers because they wanted as close to a natural baseline as possible. All that was left was a physical endurance test and he kept his mind off the task by thinking about what fun Mohinder must have been having at Sylar's expense. Awake or not, there was no way in hell they would get him on a treadmill, so they gathered as much data as they could from the comatose man and counted on Peter for the rest.

"How goes it?" Jim asked entering the room and taking his place next to McCoy to peek at his clipboard.

McCoy shook his head and frowned. "Everything looks normal, but he has been going at it now for over an hour. According to the readings everything is as expected- his pulse ox is fully saturated and efficient, he is cooling at a normal rate, his cardiopulmonary systems aren't showing any more strain than usual, but he isn't building up any lactic acid in his muscles to make him feel fatigued. It is like he is recovering even as he is running."

"Probably the healing ability." Peter panted. "I have no control over that one."

Jim smiled as he watched Peter run. He had to admit he was a little jealous of his stamina. Oh the things he could do with that…"So you are telling me he could do this all day?"

"Probably." McCoy grunted pushing a button on the control panel for cool down mode. "But I would guess this healing thing has limitations. He would drop dead of dehydration eventually." If the readouts were correct, he was almost there. "Does your healing thing compensate for that?"

"Dunno." Peter shrugged as he walked at a brisk pace. "I never really tried it. I don't run much."

"Why is that?" Jim asked handing him a towel.

Peter nodded in gratitude and replied with a smile, "Why run when you can fly?"

"Good point." Jim conceded. "So what do you have so far?" he asked Bones.

"Finish cooling down and make sure you drink plenty of water." McCoy instructed. "And get something to eat. You burned damn near 1,000 calories." He turned to Jim and motioned for him to follow. "I have to pick up the lab results, but I am guessing there won't be anything remarkable based on what I just saw."

"What about the other one- Sylar?" He snickered and asked, "What kind of a name is Sylar anyway? Did his parents hate him or something?"

"What the hell kind of name is Leonard? He didn't have any more control over what his name is than I did." McCoy grumbled as he rounded the corner to the sickbay. "But you would think something had to be going on there for him to be as messed up as Noah says he is. No one is just born a killer- they are usually made."

A nurse stopped him to give him the lab results as well as the chart for Hiro. "I need your signature to discharge him, Sir." She said in an uptight professional manner.

He scanned the chart and made his way to the biobed where his patient was surrounded by Noah, Mohinder, and Ando. "What the hell is this, a convention?" He growled. He took one look at Hiro's ridiculous smile and added, "Go on, get out of here." A man who looked that happy couldn't be sick unless he was just loopy from the pain meds.

"I can take you to your room," Ando offered, "it is next to mine. The door opens on its own, just like in comic books!"

"When you get him settled, can you join Matt and help him with the search?" Noah inquired. As was usual for him, it wasn't really so much a question as a statement.

"I want to also." Hiro stated with determination as he hopped off the bed. "I am better now and I want to do my part to help."

"You did help, Hiro." Mohinder said gently. "You got us all here safely and that was a huge undertaking." He glanced at McCoy and added, "I do not want to conflict with Dr. McCoy's decision, but I think it might be best if you rested awhile longer. We can always let you know if more help is needed."

Hiro looked deeply disappointed and it moved Dr. McCoy to say, "Let the kid help if he wants to. All he will be doing is reading and running queries on a computer." Hiro immediately perked up and bowed deeply to him which McCoy wasn't sure how to react to. He decided on a firm scowl and a stern warning. "But I am telling you kid, if you feel any pain in your head or your nose starts bleeding again I want you to come back here immediately." He turned to Ando and pointed at him. "I am holding you personally responsible for him."

Ando jumped slightly because the doctor scared him more than just a little and he was certain he meant what he said. He vowed to keep a close eye on his friend because if he didn't he could end up like Sylar and he didn't want that.

Satisfied that he would have 100% compliance with his orders, he turned to Mohinder and asked, "How are you coming with your research?"

Mohinder sighed and admitted, "It is rather slow going picking through each chromosome one band at a time, but ultimately I believe that is where we will find the answer. There has to be mutations within the genetic code that makes them different from us." He rubbed his face in exhaustion. "I just have to find them."

"Well, I'll take your word for it." McCoy smirked, "I'm a surgeon, not a geneticist." Mohinder returned to the small lab that was prepared for him and once again studied the karyotype films of Sylar's DNA that lined the backlit walls. "Good to have you on board, Dr. Suresh." McCoy added. Mohinder gave a small nod and a smile. It was nice to feel needed.

Noah and Jim followed McCoy to his office where he looked over the lab results. After a few tense moments he sighed and tossed the PADD on his desk and shook his head. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing that is out of the ordinary. According to the results, Peter and Sylar are two perfectly healthy, normal human males."

"But you said in the rec room that Peter's body was reacting as it should, just at a faster rate. Isn't that something?" Jim asked hopefully.

"I don't know." McCoy sighed. "That could be explained by some metabolic anomaly. Both of them have normal CBC counts and healthy immune responses with a full compliment of antibodies to most of the common communicable diseases. If there was some metabolic reason for this advanced healing thing, that is where you would find it. I would expect to see elevated T-cells or an influx of white blood cells, but their blood is no different from ours. In fact, the only thing remotely unusual about either of them was I found a faint 3 inch scar front and back on Sylar's lower chest region."

"Yeah," Noah said adjusting his glasses, "that was from being run through with Hiro's katana. Sylar didn't have Claire's ability then, so he had to heal on his own."

"He shouldn't have survived a wound like that." McCoy said emphatically. "It would have severed his descending aorta or at least caused serious damage to his lungs and diaphragm. He would have suffocated from lack of oxygen as his lungs filled with blood."

Noah shrugged casually. "Believe me, we were just as surprised as you. I was there when it happened and shortly after he was stabbed, he disappeared down a sewer. Either he drug himself or an unknown person helped him, but no one saw anything because we were…a little distracted."

"By what?" Jim asked fascinated.

Noah took a deep breath as he searched for the right words to say. "Well, we all thought that Sylar was the one who was going to destroy New York City. He had stolen the ability to summon up thermonuclear power from another person…"

"By killing them?" McCoy asked dryly as he imagined him somehow cutting the person's head off.

"Of course," Noah nodded, "and with this power he had the potential to take out the entire city."

"Why would someone do something like that?" Jim asked horrified. "I mean, I get it that he has a chip on his shoulder, but how pissed off do you have to be to take out an entire city of innocent people?"

"How pissed off do you have to be to take out an entire planet?" McCoy asked grimly. "Spock should have asked Nero before he went all kamikaze on his ass with the Jellyfish."

Noah had no idea what any of that meant, but he went on. "As it turned out, Peter was the real danger. As I told you, he didn't have much control in the early days and Sylar capitalized on this. He pushed Peter until he lost control and became nuclear himself. He couldn't stop the reaction, so Nathan flew him up into the atmosphere to detonate safely away from the city."

"Peter blew up?" Jim asked confused. "Like….completely blew up?"

"You would have to ask him exactly what happened, but because of his healing ability he wasn't harmed by the radiation." Noah answered.

"The more important question is can he do it now?" McCoy asked warily. "Either of them?"

"Yes, they could." Noah admitted. "Both of them. But all indications are that neither has used that ability since then."

"Great." McCoy muttered. "This just keeps getting better and better. Well, since there is nothing special in the baseline data, we will probably start testing with abilities as soon as Peter has recovered. We will see if we can get anything unusual then."

"You won't have to wait long." Noah chuckled. "You have two of the most resilient lab rats ever. By the way, for the accuracy of your records Sylar's name is actually Gabriel Gray."

"I knew that couldn't be his real name!" Jim exclaimed with a smile. "No one in their right mind would name their kid that."

"I wouldn't say his parents were ever in their right minds." Noah said darkly. "At least what we know of them."

"Here we go…" McCoy muttered under his breath as he pulled up the mystery man's records to correct them. "I had to estimate his age with the help of an anthropologist. Judging by the complete closure of the growth plates of the long bones and the presence of wisdom teeth, he is over the age of 22. And by measuring the gap in the joint of his pelvis we put his age at somewhere between 28 and 34. But with this whole healing thing he could be 100 for all I know. It would stand to reason that any cellular damage that naturally occurs would be corrected immediately, slowing the aging process tremendously."

"That's pretty close." Noah commended. "Birth records were hard to locate for him because his family situation is…complicated, but we think he is around 32 or 33. We do know that he was born in Brooklyn, New York and lived with Martin and Virginia Gray as an only child."

"What's so complicated about that?" Jim wondered aloud. "It isn't that unusual for people to be only children in a family."

"No, what was unusual was that they were not his birth parents, rather his aunt and uncle. We know nothing about his biological mother other than at around the age of 5 he witnessed his father murder her. At about that time he was sold to Martin for cash, but he didn't find any of this out until recently."

"Jesus." McCoy sighed as he typed furiously. "No wonder he is messed up in the head. You watch your mother get killed and then you are sold like cattle at an auction."

"It gets better." Noah promised. "Martin left the family when he was about 8 and Virginia was very child like herself which forced Gabriel to grow up very quickly. He is very intelligent- some would say a genius- so he became a watchmaker just like Martin and supported himself by running the family shop with little formal training. When I first became aware of him he was nothing like he is now. He was very quiet, shy, and by all accounts a fine young man. But he was desperate and believed he deserved more from life. He wanted to be special in the worst way, he just wanted to matter. I don't know exactly when his power manifested, but he was aware that he was different by the time I was onto him."

"So ok…" Jim began trying to keep things straight in his head "his life sucked growing up, but he still turned out alright probably because he was so smart. So what the hell happened that he all of a sudden turned into a psycho killer?"

"Don't make that mistake." Noah warned with a smile. "To say he is psychotic overlooks that he does what he does with absolute intention and purpose. He doesn't half ass do anything- no action is executed without being completely thought out step by step and that is what makes him so dangerous. It isn't his powers, it is the way his intellect allows him to wield them with such precision that is the real threat."

"He sounds like Spock, only evil." McCoy mused. "Just what we need. As if having one around wasn't maddening enough."

* * *

The med tech that had been assigned to alpha shift looked up from her microscope and stretched. She had been busy all morning completing a huge pile of lab tests for Dr. McCoy and now she was working on a project for Dr. Suresh. She checked the machine that developed the agarose gel full of DNA markers. It still had 10 minutes to go and it had to be perfect or she would have to start the process all over again. She still had to check on the IV drip for the creepy guy in the isolation room, but he could wait awhile longer. At the dose he was being given, he would be out for weeks even without it.

Unbeknownst to her in the isolation room, Sylar's fingers began to twitch.


	10. Chapter 10 Facing Up

**Chapter 10- Facing Up**

"_I see nothing in your eyes,  
And the more I see the less I like…_

I know nothing of your kind,  
And I won't reveal your evil mind  
Is it over yet?  
I can't win"

"_Breath" –Breaking Benjamin_

Jim left the sickbay wondering if Spock wasn't right all along. While he knew for certain that he had stumbled upon something that he would never again see in his lifetime, he had to question his own decision to allow them to bring Sylar. He couldn't ignore the foreboding feeling in his gut that told him he had placed his crew in danger. He was so deep in thought he almost ran Peter over when he turned the corner to the lifts, giving him an inadvertent hard shoulder. "I'm sorry," Jim said embarrassed, "are you ok?"

Peter smiled graciously and quipped, "Even if I wasn't it wouldn't matter for long. I can heal, remember?"

"Yeah, I know…I just…" He waved his hand dismissively and trailed off.

Peter had the uncanny ability to sense the mood of others. He wouldn't have called it an ability so much as it was a talent, but he knew that something was wrong with the starship captain. "The better question is are _you_ ok?" He asked cautiously.

Jim was torn between telling the truth and a white lie. While Peter seemed like a decent guy, the truth was he was one of them. Jim simply didn't know if he could take criticism of his own kind in stride or if he would be offended, but he certainly was worried over the whole thing and needed to tell someone before he exploded. "Walk with me." Jim requested.

Peter was intrigued, but he took a sip of his water and replied, "Ok, but Dr. McCoy wanted to see me after lunch for more tests."

"He can wait." Jim shrugged. "Besides, I thought you would want to see the bridge."

"Sure. As long as he doesn't take it out on me." He agreed. He hadn't been on the ship long, but he quickly caught on to which way the wind blew on deck 5. He just wanted to make sure that wind didn't turn into a gale force storm that blew in his direction. "So what's on your mind?"

Jim sighed as he placed his hands on his hips. "I don't mean to sound like a dick, Peter, but I do have some concerns about this project." Peter nodded solemnly and he went on, "What I mean is that while you and the others are ok, I didn't fully understand what I was getting into and my crew is freaking out."

"You mean Sylar." Peter corrected. He had spent enough time around Nathan to know code speak when he heard it and he was getting pretty good at seeing through it. "You should be. Sylar can be a handful, but you kind of have to understand him. He can be a cold blooded, ruthless killer but…" he sighed and chose his words carefully, "he can also be reasoned with. I would say that most of the time he is calculating, but once in awhile you can catch him off guard. You just have to know him well enough to know what will put you in danger and what won't. No matter what others say, Sylar doesn't kill indiscriminately- he isn't a thrill killer. What he wants is more abilities and as long as your crew are normal people that stay out of his way they will be safe."

Jim listened carefully and stated, "You seem to know him pretty well."

"Yeah." Peter answered simply remembering what it felt like to have his power. The darkness and relentless drive were stuck in Peter's memory. "He is almost like a brother."

Jim scoffed and said, "If he is anything like your other brother you may be the only normal one."

"Be thankful my mother isn't here," he retorted, "she is even more manipulative than Sylar. I swear I am beginning to think that I was adopted." He sighed as the lift carried them upwards and thought about Nathan. In times past he would have defended his brother to the death because no matter what happened, he was always there for him. But now he couldn't in good faith even though his heart ached for the brother he knew was still inside the shell of a man that was responsible for his current situation.

Peter followed Jim into a very modern looking room with consoles spaced evenly throughout the room surrounding a rather large chair in the center. Around one of these consoles huddled Matt, Ando, Hiro, Spock, Chekov, and a woman with very long hair pulled into a pony tail that Peter had never seen before. "How is it going?" Jim asked.

Spock responded in a flat voice, "They are learning how to interface with the ship's system by running practice queries. I thought it best to enlist the assistance of the crew to make the process as efficient as possible."

"Sounds good." Jim sighed absentmindedly as he took note of the pairings. Spock was assisting Ando, Uhura was aiding Hiro, and Chekov was helping the mind reader which he thought was perfect since his English was not the clearest. He paused and wondered if Chekov thought with an accent as well….

"Why do you get the beautiful woman to help you?" Ando whispered to Hiro in Japanese. "Why do I get stuck with the green guy?" He huffed slightly at his friend's luck. "It couldn't even be a green woman."

Uhura smiled and curtly replied, "Domo." Ando's eyes went wide and he blushed slightly at being caught. She noted his embarrassment and smiled. "Yes, I can speak Japanese as well as many other languages."

"Does he?" He asked rolling his eyes upward to indicate Spock who was standing over him with a slight frown. She shook her head no and Ando sighed in relief.

Matt tapped on the screen in frustration. It had been a long morning and his brain was exhausted trying to make sense out of the display. He could do it, but it took longer than everyone else and as a means of speeding things up, he sometimes just guessed at what the screen said. It was a risky strategy because if he was wrong he had to come up with some excuse and he was running out of them.

Chekov sat patiently at his side as Matt struggled and it didn't take him long to figure out that something was amiss. His partner seemed to be having difficulty reading the screen although the display was crystal clear. He hesitated to speak up because he didn't want to insult the man, but he had a desire to help if he could. "Excuse me, but you can read my thoughts, yes?" He asked quietly.

"Yes." Matt grumbled.

"Ok." Chekov lilted so he would get the hint. _Are you having trouble reading? Just nod so the others won't know. _Matt paused, but finally gave a small nod yes. _English is sometimes hard for me too. Why don't I read the screen and you listen to my thoughts? Just tell me what to look for and I will help you._

A wave of relief washed over Matt and he wanted to hug the kid. He didn't want to admit he had a problem. What kind of superhuman couldn't read? But he was thankful that Chekov didn't think any less of him for it. There was no condescension in his tone or a sense of pity, just a desire to find a discreet workaround to a mutual problem.

From across the room, Peter smiled. He didn't make it a habit to eavesdrop because god knows he had enough going on in his own head without more noise, but Matt was right at dinner when he insisted that sometimes people feel so strongly about something that the thoughts are broadcast like a radio station. But if there was anything that Peter was good at, it was discretion and he decided to keep his discovery a secret.

* * *

It was like wading through mud, but slowly Sylar began to awaken from his coma. As usual, his mind was much faster than the rest of his body and he waited patiently for the rest of himself to catch up. While he waited, he fought to suppress a momentary wave of panic when his senses began to come online and he noted the strong sterile smell and coolness of the room. In his experience, only one type of place needed to be cold and sterile to ward off infection and it was a place that he did not want to be. His mind screamed as vivid flashes of level 5 streamed through his consciousness. The pain, the fear, the helplessness that he suffered at the hands of Bennet. He had almost tasted death, in fact he prayed for it to come to end the misery but he survived. He survived because he remained calm and he would again if he could just pull himself together and take stock of things rationally.

He lay perfectly still and listened carefully, but the silence told him he was alone in the room. He slowly opened his dark eyes and blinked rapidly. He still felt a little groggy, but it was comforting to have control of his muscles back. They were stiff and sore from being immobile, but at least they were responding to his commands. And being in control was everything at the moment.

He ran a hand over his scalp and grimly noted that they had cut his hair short again. What the hell was Bennet's fixation with his hair? It made him angry and he felt violated. It made him wonder what else they had done to him without his knowledge. With his healing ability he would probably never know and maybe it was better that way. He never wanted to feel that way again.

He had to swallow down another spike of anxiety when he took stock of the barren, bunker like room. His first thought was that Bennet had tricked him. He had rebuilt Primatech and he was being held in a revamped level 5. That little bitch Hiro was in on it as well and Sylar resolved to kill him one way or another for his treachery. He had wanted the man's power, but before it was just a passing fancy on his wish list; now it was a matter of principle. No one could cage him like an animal and immediately he set to work on finding a solution to his circumstances. He had to escape.

On the other side of the sickbay, the med tech had delivered the gels to Mohinder who graciously thanked her. She didn't quite know what to say because Dr. McCoy certainly never went out his way to be complimentary, but suddenly all the hard work seemed worth it. As she was leaving Mohinder's lab, she remembered to swing by the isolation room to change the IV drip. Even though the man was no danger to her, she didn't like being in the same room with him. She couldn't quite place it, but it was as if he exuded evil in his sleep and it permeated the room. It was absurd, but she pictured him suddenly waking and grabbing her by the throat and choking her so hard with one hand that she was unable to scream.

She rounded the corner to the isolation room and stopped in her tracks. She was choked by fear and unable to scream because the man was standing with his palms pressed against the glass staring at her. His face was emotionless and his eyes were dark and devoid of any recognizable human element, yet he was somehow able to convey the fact that he was going to get out of the room and when he did, she was going to die. His eyes slowly slid away from her and rested on the lock mechanism of the door. A small smile crossed his lips as he casually flipped his fingers and the lock sprung from the outside as if a ghost opened it. Another slight wave sent the door crashing open and he slowly padded on bare feet into the hallway to face her.

A small voice inside her told her there was no use in running. She knew that fighting would do no good and a strange sense of calm overcame her as she accepted her fate. She knew for a fact that she was going to die at his hands, yet she was not afraid. What she was not about to do, however, was condemn her crewmates to the same fate that she was about to face. In a flash, she extended her arm and smashed the panic alarm that would alert the entire ship to the danger.

Sylar jumped slightly at the shrieking alarm. His eyes grew darker still and this was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and waited for death to descend on her.


	11. Chapter 11 Near Death Experience

**Chapter 11- Near Death Experience**

Sylar threw the woman into the nearest wall and held her suspended about a foot from the floor. He had to concentrate more than usual to avoid destroying her completely with the force and pressure of his telekinesis. He was going to kill her to be sure, but he wanted her to suffer first. Had she not activated the alarm he may have allowed her to live but she had interfered with his plans and that angered him greatly.

A man in a blue shirt raced around the corner and came to an abrupt stop when he saw the woman hovering on the wall. He slowly turned to Sylar and said, "Put her down, son. You don't have to hurt her." Something in Sylar cringed at being called 'son.' It was patronizing and whoever the man was, he was working with the woman who was holding him captive and as far as he was concerned, that made him an accomplice in his book. With a small flick of his wrist, the man joined the woman in suspension. The look of complete shock on his face was priceless and it almost made Sylar laugh.

"Sylar!" Came a familiar voice.

Bennet. The rage returned and burned hot in the pit of his stomach at the sound of his voice. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth at the sight of the man who had trapped him…again. The one time he had given Bennet the benefit of the doubt when it appeared that he was trying to help, he turned on him. Sylar was just as angry at himself for falling for it as he was at Bennet for doing who knows what to him. The memories of the tests that Bennet damn near killed him with bled in his mind. The suffering he endured left raw scars that he still felt and the pain nearly blinded him as he violently threw him against the wall with the others.

Something stirred in his peripheral vision and he reflexively turned his head to see Mohinder's stunned expression. "Oh my God." Mohinder sighed staring wide eyed at Sylar and his row of would be victims. "Wait, you…" was all he was able to say before he too was held captive.

Sylar didn't care why Mohinder was there, but no doubt he had a hand in whatever was going on at the facility. If he hated Bennet, words couldn't express his distaste for the geneticist. Even if he had nothing to do with any of it, he deserved to die for his past transgressions. How could he forget the time he was given spiked tea in a pseudo act of friendship only to be drugged and shot at? Again it was his intellect that saved him and he was able to stop the flow of drugs and play charades long enough to regain his ability to stop the bullet inches before it entered his forehead. Were it not for his quick thinking, Mohinder may have been successful in his attempted murder.

He slowly raised his right hand and pointed at the throat of the woman. He was through with all of them, no more games- just swift and certain death. One quick slice across the throat and he could be on his way…. The sound of footsteps pounding on the floor moving in his direction gave him pause.

"Sylar! Stop!" Peter called excitedly. Sylar was growing tired of people shouting his name and even more weary with each new batch of arrivals and his agitation was starting to show. This time two more colored shirts came with him and he was momentarily caught off guard when he realized that one of the men had pointed ears and a green tint to his skin.

The man in a gold shirt next to Peter took one look at the man in blue and drew a gun from his belt. Sylar smirked at the man's actions because he had seen this show many times before, so he stretched out his hand in anticipation to stop the flying projectiles in midair. He was in the middle of considering whether or not he would fling them back when Peter shouted 'no' but it was too late; the man pulled the trigger.

Sylar's mind was incredibly fast, but even he had just enough time to realize that what was being shot at him was not metal fragments, but a stream of light. He knew that light consisted of photons and photons did not have mass. Without adequate mass, he wouldn't be able to stop it. When his mind had completed this calculation, he had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut tight and wait for the pain. Sure enough, the intense burning sensation lit up every nerve in his body and he stumbled backwards a step or two before it subsided and the scorch mark in his side healed. Behind him, the people on the wall slipped a bit.

Jim almost couldn't believe his eyes. 'Almost' because after he had time to think about it, he had watched the man survive a knife in the back of the head and yet there he was. He was used to operating in the usual world where phasers set on kill actually did as advertised, yet as was his luck, he had accidentally stumbled upon Sylar's Achilles heel: his powers didn't work for phasers. Jim didn't have time to gloat to Spock since he had actually figured it out before his logical science officer because Sylar blasted him with a stream of blue energy that emanated from his hand. The force was sufficient to throw him backwards and leave him paralyzed staring at the ceiling. Jim should have been disturbed by this, but all his stunned brain could focus on was how cool it was to have a more powerful phaser than his gun shoot from his hand.

While Spock checked on Jim, more colored shirts arrived from the bridge but stood down on the green man's orders. Peter raised his hands in mock surrender and slowly approached the enraged man. "Sylar, this isn't what you think." He said quietly and calmly.

"Is that right, Petrelli?" Sylar sneered. "Tell me, did Nathan recruit you too?"

"No." Peter answered sadly. "He was after me too, Sylar."

Sylar was bored with the scene and he was already working on a quick exit strategy because he didn't know how many more people would respond to the alarm. He again quickly raised his hand to complete his initial task, but this time started at the other end with Mohinder. He managed to make a small cut in his throat before he heard Peter yell "Wait!" over the scientist's pained screaming.

Peter's eyes were wide and filled with desperation in Sylar's estimation. Peter was a true believer, so if he was panicked he must have been convinced that something else aside from torture was going on at that place. He once more pleadingly stretched out his hands and breathed, "Just hear me out, Sylar. You have the ability to know when someone is lying. Just listen to me, let me explain."

Sylar waited, but he didn't feel the small tingling sensation at the base of his skull that alerted him to dishonesty. Not that he needed to use it with Peter- he was perhaps the worst liar he had ever met. Mother Theresa was probably better at it than he was. "Go on." He responded coolly.

Peter nodded in relief at having been granted a reprieve. "So Nathan was after us, right? Well, we aren't in that time right now. Hiro brought us to the future- a future where we aren't supposed to exist. Whatever Nathan was doing, he was doing it well because all indications are that he got us too."

The innuendo was not lost on Sylar. He, Peter and Claire were more or less immortal- apparently less because Peter hadn't lied so far and that disturbed him because he didn't particularly enjoy contemplating his own mortality.

"This isn't a place run by the Company. We aren't even on Earth. We are on a spaceship and that man," he pointed to Jim who was by this time sitting up on his own with a dazed look on his face, "is the Captain. He agreed to give us a safe place to stay until we can go back to stop Nathan."

Sylar glanced at the man in the gold shirt, but didn't feel any particular remorse. He had been shot at first so in his mind it was self defense. The green man at his side, however, unnerved him a bit. He was still completely confused by him mostly because of the calm way he held his stare. Most people flinched and looked away under his harsh glare, but this man passively engaged him with a steady will and he didn't know how to react to that. There was a keenness in his eyes that he recognized as an intelligence equal to his own and he was instantly intrigued.

Peter looked from Sylar to Spock and almost smiled because what he saw was pure Gabriel- distracted, curious, and definitely not a homicidal maniac that needed to be talked off a ledge. Suddenly he had lost interest in his prey and was taken with the green man for some odd reason. Peter got the sense that Spock was also highly intelligent, but he would have thought that Sylar would have seen him as a threat- not a potential playmate in the sandbox. After all, he was not exactly known for playing well with others. His relief was short lived, however, when like a rubber band Gabriel snapped back into Sylar and he turned to him and hissed, "_Spaceship_?"

"We should have shot you out an airlock." McCoy grumbled. He may have lost control of his volitional movement, but he never could keep his mouth shut to save his life- almost literally in this case.

Sylar glared at him for a moment and replied, "Idiot. That wouldn't kill me. I would keep regenerating until I got back on the ship, and believe me, I would one way or another just to kill you." McCoy was not a man that was easily rattled, but he believed every word he said.

"Sylar, they are all trying to help us, just put them down." Peter said softly.

"You didn't explain why I was being held while you were running around." Sylar said in a low voice as he glanced sideways at him. "Why did I have to be put in chemical restraints? What were they doing to me, Peter? And don't think about lying…I can tell, remember?"

Peter was really hoping he could just sidestep that particular freight train if he could just gloss over it, but he should have known that he would find the devil in the details. "We are here because we have to find a way to stop Nathan. Obviously he knows something we don't- he knows how to exploit some weakness in us that we all seem to have. We have to find that weakness too and the only way to do that is to study our powers with their advanced technology." Peter watched anxiously as Sylar set his jaw and began to grind his teeth as he squinted hard at him. "I had the same tests you did," he said soothingly, "and then some. They are good people, Sylar, they didn't do any mad scientist experiments on us." He paused for a moment and asked, "Am I lying?"

As an answer, Sylar let his hostages fall to the floor in a heap.

* * *

Up on the bridge Matt, Hiro, and Ando sat where they had been left when their partners ran off to respond to some kind of alarm, afraid to touch anything for fear of what it might do. The odd thing was, Peter went with them.

"Do you think it is some kind of fire drill or something?" Ando asked nervously.

"Where the hell are they going to go?" Matt laughed. "Are they going to go running out into space? Meet up on the nearest asteroid and do a head count?"

"Maybe it is drill." Hiro agreed. "You must always be ready for disaster."

"I just hope it isn't a disaster of the supervillain kind." Matt groused. "I'll bet they don't have plans for that one in their standard operating procedures."


	12. Chapter 12 Decisions

**A/N: Trek comes home on DVD tomorrow! WOOOHOOOO!!!! Guess what I will be doing for the rest of the week…**

**Chapter 12- Decisions**

With a little help from his friend, Jim was feeling much better by the end of the day even though Sylar sat on the edge of the bed at the far end of the sickbay glaring at him intermittently. Even though Peter had convinced him that the crew meant no harm, it was as though the murderous impulse was still in full effect and suddenly Jim knew what a rat felt when it was tossed into a cage with a snake. This guy could probably scare the daylights of a Romulan without really trying. He knew he for one would probably have nightmares for awhile…

In truth, Sylar's menacing from afar was purely coincidental although its effects did not completely escape his attention. What he was in fact doing was dispassionately scanning and absorbing details of his environment, making reams of mental notes that he would later assemble into cognitive maps and working hypotheses. Once upon a time, the thrill of discovery would have brought a feeling of accomplishment and joy, but he couldn't remember the last time he felt that way about anything. His innate ability, intuitive aptitude, was the only one that he could truly call his own but now it largely worked without any real effort on his part. Unraveling mysteries was as easy as catching a cold- which he might have found exciting since it was impossible for him to actually do.

Peter milled about aimlessly mulling things over in his head. He knew he had done the right thing, but he also knew how quickly things could go south as long as Sylar was awake and mobile. On the one hand, he knew that the crew was doomed should he be provoked again, but on the other he also understood in some twisted fashion the way that Sylar must have felt about the whole situation and truth be told he couldn't blame him. He wanted to talk to him and try to let him know that he was not as alone as he believed himself to be in all of this, but he also knew that Sylar did not believe that he needed mutual human relationships. It was as if he was most comfortable in his isolation, but it made sense in that it was much easier to do whatever was necessary to ensure your own survival if you didn't give a damn about anyone else around you. Peter sighed and folded his arms. The ability to see both sides as equally valid often left him completely indecisive and he was at a loss as to what to do next. If he did nothing, more 'misunderstandings' were bound to happen but he also knew that Sylar's tolerance for companionship was very limited and if he pushed too hard too fast that alone could set him off. In the end, he decided to just play it by ear and trust his instincts as he always did.

McCoy held an emergency meeting in his office with Noah and Spock. "What I would like to know," he hissed in a barely controlled rage, "is exactly what he can do. I have seen him rise from the dead, use some invisible force to hold us immobile and cut the throat of Dr. Suresh, spontaneously heal and then he shoots some kind of blue hell from his hands! What else is he capable of?"

"Well," Noah began calmly, "he has a habit of disappearing for long stretches of time and we can never be certain if and what powers he may have acquired, and he was infected with the Shanti virus during which time he lost some of his abilities. But I can tell you about the ones we have watched him use."

"Please do!" McCoy huffed sarcastically.

"There are of course the ones you mentioned. The 'blue hell' as you called it is electricity. Peter can do it too." He obliged. "As Peter said he can tell when someone is lying to him, he can touch an object and know its history…"

"Wait, what does that mean?" McCoy sputtered.

"Say he found a picture of your daughter. He could pick it up and see the memories you had when you held it, or when she gave it to you." Noah smiled slightly as the horror of the implication sunk in for McCoy. "And he can do this with any object if he wants to gain information about you. Think of it as his version of Peter and Matt's mind reading ability."

"I do not understand how this is possible." Spock objected. "It would require traces of psychic energy be held in a semi-permanent state for him to detect. And for the residue to be deposited, the owner of the object must in some way transfer energy from the mind to the object."

"Your guess is as good as mine." Noah chuckled. "At this point no one knows how exactly they do anything that they do, yet a lack of understanding doesn't prevent them from using their abilities in the slightest."

"I guess that is the whole point of all this." McCoy grumbled. "So is that it?"

"Not exactly." Noah admitted. "He can turn objects that he touches into gold. And he used to be able to go into a trance like state and paint the future, but I don't know if he can still do that or not. He may have lost that one to the virus. I am pretty sure Peter can, though."

"What is this Shanti virus?" McCoy asked with a squint. "Is it infectious to ordinary humans?"

"What _was_ it is more like it. The thing about time travel is that it can beautifully illustrate the butterfly effect in which a seemingly innocuous event can cause an apocalypse. Without being overly dramatic, the only reason we are sitting here is because Peter was able to search it out and destroy it before it was released and killed over 90% of the world's population. That was the future of humanity, but since the timeline was altered no one knows of its existence." Noah sighed heavily and regretted his next bit of information. "Sylar contracted the virus because the company I worked for developed and injected him with it when we first discovered and captured him. We ran tests on him until he nearly died. Each time he was close we were ordered to revive him and continue with the experiments not caring if it did kill him in the end as long as we got the information we wanted. After that, he was going to be left to die because the virus not only erased the abilities of the individual, but it had the nasty side effect of being 100% fatal."

"My God." McCoy breathed falling back in his chair. It all became clear to him why the man acted as he did if he thought he was reliving the experience all over again. Suddenly he felt sick at being complicit in doing what little he had done in light of what he had just learned.

"And the purpose of this experimentation was to determine the mechanism of his powers?" Spock asked undeterred. If he was at all bothered by what he had just heard, he wasn't showing it.

"Not so much how they worked, but rather what he had." Noah corrected. "We knew by that time he had more than just his base power, but none of the tests we did came up with anything. The Shanti virus was reported to neutralize the abilities of specials. At the time it seemed like stripping them of their powers was the safest thing for them, certainly someone like Sylar. So we tested it on him."

"And you believe that the virus successfully inactivated his abilities?" Spock continued.

"Most of them, it did. He retained at least telekinesis and perhaps more that he doesn't use but this was all before he had Claire's ability. Mohinder found that a mixture of her blood along with his formed an antidote. Sylar found out about it and stole a dose for himself, kick starting the process of acquisition all over again to rebuild what he had lost."

"How did Dr. Suresh's blood factor into the equation?" McCoy asked.

"Shanti," Noah said quietly, "was the name of his deceased sister. She was also a special, but she developed the virus and passed away before Mohinder was born. If she could have held on a little longer, they would have discovered the antibodies that she needed in his blood. His antibodies plus Claire's healing ability acting as an accelerant allowed for Sylar's rapid recovery. You ask if the virus is contagious, but all that remains is Sylar's acquired immunity to it so there is no chance the crew can become infected. Peter and Sylar's healing ability pretty much makes them sterile for all intents and purposes- their bodies destroy disease before it can be transmitted. They can't even be carriers."

"It would be ideal if we could obtain data on all available abilities. If I understand correctly, Peter does not share all abilities with Sylar and he would not be likely to acquire them. Do you think it would be possible to persuade Sylar to willingly participate in the research process?" Spock inquired.

Noah tried his best not to laugh because the man was so earnest and he didn't know Sylar the way he did, so he didn't have a clue how absurd his suggestion was. "Hell has a better chance in freezing over." He chuckled. "Sylar won't willingly do anything for you because that is just how he is. He wouldn't cross the street to save his own mother, so forget jumping through hoops for your little pet project."

"His reticence is understandable given his previous experience," Spock continued "however, Peter demonstrated that he is a man that values reason. It appears he can be motivated through logic if it is sound. I wish to speak with him in this manner if he is agreeable."

"Good luck with that." Noah mumbled. "You don't have to ask my permission to talk to him, but I will warn you that he can turn on a dime. I would have Peter nearby if I were you just in case…what you saw earlier is fairly tame compared to what he is truly capable of."

Matt, Ando and Hiro looked anxiously as the lift doors opened and their partners returned. They had been gone a long time and they were starting to worry. The look on the faces of Uhura, Sulu and Chekov were anything but reassuring, though.

"Is everything ok?" Hiro asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure." Uhura answered still in awe. "Maybe you should tell us."

"What happened?" Ando asked standing up. The tension was just too much for him.

"What do you think happened?" Matt cried. "He's awake, isn't he? Goddamn it! I knew it! What did I tell you? I said it was a bad idea. Did he kill anyone?"

"Almost. He shot blue…" Chekov searched for the right words and ended up just shaking his hand to illustrate his point "and then…" he made a sweeping gesture with a pointed finger. "It vas the most terrible thing."

"Seriously." Sulu agreed. "Did you see the look on his face? It was like he felt absolutely nothing. He was going to kill them all and then yawn, I swear."

Matt sighed and hung his head. It was only a matter of time before he followed through and it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

* * *

Nathan shuffled around in the dim light of Peter's apartment. He had tried several times to call his brother to warn him- to beg him to run if he had to. He had enough on his conscience with the deaths of hundreds as it was without that particular addition. He knew he was taking a big risk in reaching out, but consequences be damned. This was spiraling way out of control and he couldn't watch his baby brother become a victim. He might have deserved a fate like that, but not Pete. Peter may have bungled things now and again and generally made one mess after another for him to clean up practically his entire life, but his heart was always in the right place. Nathan seemed to have the same luck as his brother when it came to good intentions going bad, so he completely understood.

What he didn't understand was why Peter didn't respond to his calls and what worried him more was that nothing had moved since the last time he had come. The mail was piling up by the door and not so much as a dust bunny was out of place. Clearly, Peter hadn't been there in at least three days and a sick knot formed in Nathan's stomach. Did they get to him before he could? He knew that Peter often worked long hours as a paramedic, but a 72 hour shift was ridiculous.

He took one last look around the empty apartment and vowed to never return. The place was likely under surveillance and he wasn't going to play with fire by coming back. Nathan was not an optimistic man, but he had to hope that Peter saw the writing on the wall and went into hiding. He hoped that the subtle tip-off he sent to Noah was understood and he was forewarned. He may have botched the last job, but he could still be trusted. Besides, it was the only option he had.

He quietly closed the door and removed his cell phone from his pocket. "Hey. I'll be there as soon as I can. Of course I will take care of it, it is as good as done." He hung up and heaved a heavy sigh.


	13. Chapter 13 Cain and Able

**Chapter 13- Cain and Abel**

"Ok, everybody." Matt said nervously looking at his charges. Spock had excused himself after delegating him as the lead investigator since none of the crew knew what they were looking for within the billions of terabytes of information available in the database. Spock felt the chore would get done faster if there were multiple teams working on the problem, so he assigned Sulu to take his place with Ando and to Matt's relief, another man named Scotty to work with Chekov so he could focus on directing the search. As he looked over the sea of eager faces, he felt as though he were conducting a roll call with his own little army of detectives. Take that, LAPD! "Ah, my name is Matt for those of you I haven't met yet. I used to be a cop, so this kind of thing should be pretty simple. What we are looking for is any information relating to Nathan Petrelli and his connection with people like us," he gestured to Hiro and Ando, "so maybe we can just start there."

The new man in the red shirt slowly raised his hand and asked, "What is it ya mean by 'people like us' exactly?" His accent was thick and it took Matt a minute to decipher it.

Sulu beat him to it by turning around to answer, "They are evolved humans. They can do stuff…" he gestured in a vague circling motion by his head, "with their minds…or something." Matt smirked because Sulu may not have realized that he had just called them crazy with his motion.

"Och!" Scotty inhaled wide eyed as he looked at Matt. "Is it true? Evolved humans?" Matt shrugged and gave a small nod. "Mon! But your kind was a myth!" He was clearly excited over this bit of news. "What can ya do? Do ya have superstrength or can ya walk through walls?"

"No." Matt answered patiently. "I read minds, Hiro is a time traveler, and Ando…is like a charger. He amplifies our powers."

"Like dilithium crystals and the warp drive?" He asked in amazement.

"Uh….sure." Matt quickly agreed. "Can we just get to work on this?"

Scotty settled in next to Chekov at his station and asked, "Why dinnae anyone tell me aboot this? This is a major happening and as one of the ship's commanding officers, Ah deserve ta know these things."

Chekov busied himself with accessing the database and casually replied, "Maybe it is because you hide down in the engine rooms vhere no one can find you like the domovoi."

"Whit in blazes is dom…" Scotty mumbled.

"Domovoi." Chekov coolly replied. "It is…like a spirit that lives in a house. They live under doorways and the stove. They always hide, but if they show themselves it means death is on his vay."

"Ah am no banshee, I can say." Scotty stated adamantly. "Ah like the engine rooms because it is a sight quieter than here with all the goins' on. When ya gonnae learn to speak without the accent? I cannae get ya."

"Vhat?" Chekov asked perplexed.

"Whit?" Scotty mocked.

Sulu looked past Ando at his station and laughed. They were forever teasing each other about their thick accents and it looked like today would be no different despite having guests. It wasn't exactly protocol to be so informal, but Scotty wasn't really one to follow regulations anyway. It was only because the man was a flat out genius he was promoted as high as he was- his carefree attitude and the misplacing of a certain beagle notwithstanding.

"I think I found something." Uhura called from her station with a worried look on her face.

"Yatta!" Hiro shouted until he read the screen. "No…no. It can't be!"

"What is it?" Matt asked making his way toward her. "What does it say?"

She cleared her throat and read in a strong, clear voice so everyone on the bridge could hear. "Senator Nathan Petrelli was arrested today by the FBI in his office at the Capital Building for suspected involvement in the disappearance and murder of his brother, Peter Petrelli of New York City. Mr. Petrelli was reported missing on August 23 by coworkers when he did not show up for his shift as a paramedic, which was said to be unlike him. His body was found six days later floating in the East river by tourists visiting the Brooklyn bridge. The medical examiner ruled the death a homicide and reports from the autopsy revealed the cause of death to be a gunshot wound to the head. The body also showed signs of prolonged abuse, indicating Mr. Petrelli may have been tortured before his death.

Senator Petrelli had long been a suspect in the disappearance of his brother. Cell phone records show several calls placed to Mr. Petrelli's home and cell phones in the hours leading up to his disappearance, which the Senator has denied placing. New information released from the investigation revealed video evidence of the Senator in Mr. Petrelli's apartment several times after he had gone missing. The Senator had no comment as he was led down the steps in handcuffs to an awaiting patrol car. He is expected to be arraigned in a federal court in New York on Monday morning. He could face charges of kidnapping and murder. More charges are possible pending the outcome of the investigation."

Matt sighed heavily as he leaned on the console shaking his head. "That doesn't make sense. Peter is here, how could it be possible for Nathan to kill him?"

"Hiro must have taken him back." Ando almost whispered. "It is the only way."

"Ok," Matt said steeling himself, "two things: first- Hiro, you must never take Peter back under any circumstance. No matter what he says, no reason could be good enough. If you do, you will be taking a lamb to slaughter." Hiro slowly nodded in agreement. "And second- we all have to agree to never tell Peter any of this. As far as we are all concerned, it never happened."

"But what if he reads our mind?" Sulu asked in a worried tone. "He said he can do that."

"He can, but he won't." Matt assured him. "Peter is a boy scout. He uses his abilities, but when it comes to other people he respects their privacy and free will. It is bad enough he knows that Nathan is the cause of our disappearance, he doesn't have to know this."

Everyone in the room agreed and a silent pact was made. No one would breathe a word of what they knew to him because he had enough to deal with as it was. He no doubt felt tremendous guilt at being associated with the perpetrator of genocide without also knowing that he would become a victim and suffer a terrible death at the hands of his own flesh and blood.

* * *

In sickbay, Peter casually leaned against Jim's bed and folded his arms as together they watched Spock methodically approach Sylar at the far end of the room. "What the hell is he doing?" Jim asked sitting up next to Peter aghast. "Has he lost his Vulcan mind?"

"Dunno." Peter shrugged keeping a close eye on Sylar's nonverbal posture for signs that he would attack. "He just asked me to hang out. Well….in so many words I think that is what he said."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, you'll get used to that."

Spock stood at full attention and came to a stop approximately three feet from where Sylar sat and gave a curt nod as a greeting. Sylar regarded him with something approaching apathy, but he made no overt move to acknowledge the strange being.

"Is it…" Jim asked cocking his head and squinting "is it me or do they sorta look alike?"

"Yeah, they do in a way." Peter laughed. "That's funny. Spock meets his evil twin." He again turned his attention to the two men talking. If Sylar was going to do anything, he would be quick about it and that wouldn't leave him much time to react, so he had to pay close attention.

"Hello, Mr. Sylar. My name is Spock and I am the first officer on the ship. I am also the science officer, responsible for all research that goes on aboard. I regret that you were not given an opportunity to be fully informed of the current project in which your friends are involved."

"They are not my friends." Sylar corrected in a low tone.

"Very well." Spock conceded. "As Mr. Petrelli had suggested, we are aiding in the discovery of your abilities. I understand you possess several which the others do not. Peter has agreed to demonstrate his abilities as an analog for you, however, for accurate data analysis we would require your participation as well."

"Would you?" Sylar asked mockingly raising his eyebrows. "And why would I do that?"

"Your reasons for or against participation are of course your own, but I believe that you are an individual who is most interested in his own self preservation at all cost. Am I correct?" When his counterpart failed to respond, he continued. "And whatever has caused the disappearance of your kind has or will claim you as well. It would stand to reason that no matter your affiliation with the others, the logical action would be to participate in the effort to halt the genocide in order to save yourself. Benefits of success to the others would be purely coincidental, but this would also be in your favor. To be the only survivor would deprive you of the powers you seek."

Sylar looked at the floor while he contemplated the green man's words. In the simplest of terms, he was of course right. As much as it disgusted him to cooperate with anything Noah or Mohinder was involved in, if doing so kept him alive it was the smart thing to do. But the last part of his statement stuck in his mind like an ice pick. Spock obviously knew that he was a killer, yet there was no sense of moral judgment- only cold rational fact. If he was the last man standing, there would be nothing left for him to acquire and this was simply unacceptable to him. The thrill of the chase was all he had left.

"You would, of course, determine to what extent you are willing to participate in the research." Spock assured him with authority. "You retain the right to refuse any aspect of the test sequence. But with your input we can better determine how your abilities are being exploited. I will leave you to decide which option is best." He again nodded and walked with purpose past Peter and Jim, confident he knew the outcome. He didn't need the ability to read minds to know which option he would choose.


	14. Chapter 14 Revelations

**Chapter 14- Revelations**

Peter smirked at Sylar as he stood next to him in the sickbay. He didn't know what Spock had said to him to get him to agree to testing, but there he was. In a way, Spock had managed the impossible by getting him to cooperate. Getting Sylar to do anything was like herding cats and both he and Noah were in awe of Spock's apparent power of persuasion although he assured them he had no such ability. "Glad you could join us." Peter quipped.

Sylar glared down at him and replied, "I am not here for your benefit, Petrelli. I couldn't allow them to assume your powers were equal to mine because we both know that isn't true." Peter rolled his eyes at the backhanded compliment.

"Gentlemen," McCoy called as he approached with Spock, "thank you for allowing us to gather data on your abilities." He paused and gave an uneasy look at Sylar who in turn gave a small sardonic smile just to unnerve him. McCoy didn't like him one bit and saw no reason to hide that fact. No one raised hell in his sickbay but him and to threaten his staff was crossing the line. "Spock will be assisting me with the testing process. We have set up some experiments that will measure any physiologic changes that occur when you use various powers. But in order to do that, we first have to hook you up with wireless electrodes." He placed a bowl of small adhesive pads on the bed between them and ordered them to remove their shirts. Peter happily followed along, grabbing and sticking the devices to his skin in such a manner that made McCoy observe "You look like you have done this before."

"To other people, yes." Peter admitted using two finger widths to the left of the sternum to correctly place one over his heart.

"You a doctor?" McCoy asked with a squint. "You had that old stethoscope when you came."

"No." Peter chuckled. "I am a paramedic. I was a nurse before that." As if the other nurses in the area weren't enamored enough with him as it was, that little bit of information sent them twittering and it was McCoy's turn to roll his eyes.

"I was just a murderer." Sylar smirked because no one had asked him. He was also applying his own pads, but he was doing so because he didn't want anyone touching him. It was a rule he had almost always lived by: he didn't touch his victims and he didn't want anyone touching him. It was a personal preference that he liked to strictly observe, a tough habit when you lived in a densely packed urban area like New York.

"You were a watchmaker." Peter reminded.

"A droll and soul sucking existence." Sylar mused. "I think the career change did me good." Peter simply shook his head because he wouldn't expect anything less from him.

Once both men were outfitted, a quick test showed all electrodes working and a baseline was established for Sylar by reconciling his previous data with measurements of blood pressure, respiration, and neurological activity in a fully alert state. Spock dutifully recorded all of the data points into his electronic clipboard and Sylar was somehow strangely relieved that the green man seemed to be assigned to him. He disliked McCoy almost as much as Mohinder and he was sure it would all end badly soon after testing began the first time he opened his mouth.

"There are some things you won't want them to demonstrate for you." Noah warned from the sidelines. "Radioactivity being chief among them unless you want to be fried to a crisp."

"We have a system in place for that." McCoy mumbled as he readjusted one of Peter's electrodes. "Scotty is going to help us since he is the man in charge of the ship's drive system. Breaches can happen and when it does it is nasty. He has the equipment to safely test it." Noah shrugged. It was their skin, not his. "Ok. I have a list of your abilities, Sylar." The taller man raised his eyebrow in a mocking manner that made McCoy want to attack him with a hypo, but he let it slide. "Peter, what can you do that Jack the Ripper here can't?" Sylar narrowed his dark eyes at him but he ignored it.

"Uh…let's see." Peter commented as he thought about it. "I can become invisible, read minds, and I can also fly. There is one other power that I have, but it is glitchy and doesn't work very often. Sometimes I can dream about the future, but as Hiro and Noah can tell you it isn't very helpful since the future can change at any time."

"Got that one from Mommy?" Sylar asked lightly. "Seems to work real well for her."

"Don't talk about my mother, Sylar." Peter warned.

"Like she has such high honor to defend." Sylar continued. "How many times has she sold you and Nathan out to further her own twisted agenda? You know she wanted you to blow up New York, Peter. She wanted you, her own precious son, to be the death of millions. Did you know that when you were off saving the world from the Shanti virus that she told Matt to kill you if you failed? What kind of a mother does that?"

Peter turned to face Sylar and replied in a low tone, "I don't know, Sylar. Why don't you tell me? What about your mother? Did she deserve to die and have her blood used to paint a picture of the city blowing up? What did it feel like when you stabbed her in the chest with the scissors? What did you feel when she looked you in the eyes as she was dying?"

Sylar was momentarily speechless. He didn't think he knew the details of his mother's accidental death and the truth was, he tried very hard not to think about it because while she was not his first victim, she was the only one that haunted him still. He simply wasn't expecting Peter to go for the jugular. McCoy turned to Noah and hissed, "He killed his own mother?" Noah just shrugged and nodded while Jim watched in horror. It wasn't his job to air everyone's dirty laundry.

"If we may concentrate on the task at hand." Spock cautiously interjected. He knew very well how hurtful personal attacks on one's maternal ties could be. "The both of you share the abilities of telekinesis, regeneration, radiation, and electric shock. Is this correct?" Both men slowly nodded, but were still simmering under the surface. "Then I think it wise to begin testing these factors first. We shall begin with telekinesis. You will be escorted to the cargo bay where you will be asked to move increasingly heavy objects until a limit is reached."

"This should be fun." Sylar mumbled. "Don't bother going, Peter. Never send a boy to do a man's job."

"Whatever." Peter huffed pulling his shirt back on.

* * *

Noah left the group along with Jim to check on the progress of Matt's crew. "Did he really kill his own mother?" Jim asked in awe.

Noah removed his glasses and sighed. "He did, but as I told you he was different then. I believe it was more of an accident than intentional- he wasn't as jaded as he is now. She was perhaps the only person in his life that truly cared, but it wasn't exactly a healthy parent/child relationship. I think she knew how smart he was and she pushed him to be something more to the point that it wouldn't have mattered if he won the Nobel Prize, cured cancer, and eradicated world hunger all at once, it wouldn't have been enough."

"So do you think they will be safe down there?" He wondered. "It looked like he and Peter have a little animosity going on."

"They will be fine." Noah assured replacing his glasses. "I was surprised that Peter stepped up like he did, but Sylar won't exact revenge. At least not yet. Despite what happened earlier, Sylar is the kind of guy who does not like having an audience. If he and Peter are going to have it out, they will do it in private."

The two men stepped onto the bridge and thought it odd that everyone snapped to attention as though they had been caught smoking in the bathroom. Jim casually took notice and gave an easy smile. "How is it going?" He asked knowingly.

"Uh….good." Matt hurried. "We have found a few leads that all point to a government project called 'X-PAR' whatever the hell that means. What we know so far is that this program was funded by appropriations from the defense budget."

"Which means no one knows exactly how much was being spent on what." Noah groaned. Nathan may have been a bastard, but he was smart enough to cover his tracks. "What else you got?"

"We also know that whatever this X-PAR was, it employed a platoon of scientists and what looks like a private security contractor with networks all over the country." Matt continued. "There are accounts of people being snatched from their homes in the middle of the night never to be heard from again. There are enough missing persons cases filed around the time we left to fill Yankee Stadium."

"Is that a lot?" Jim quietly whispered. After working in space for awhile and having access to warp capabilities, one's relative scale of measurement tended to become skewed.

"He's exaggerating, but not by much." Noah answered grimly. "I wasn't kidding when I said you were looking at some of the last remaining specials and now we are a step closer to knowing why with this X-PAR thing. Anything else?"

"Not yet." Ando sighed. "There is so much information in the database it is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It is like a super-mega-hyper Wikipedia- just not as easy to navigate."

"Aye, an ya have ta be damn near an expert on 21rst century history ta know the difference between a committee and a caucus. All these ancient political terms is makin' my head hurt." Scotty complained. "It's all a mess! All these different groups all doin' the same thing and callin' themselves different names- NSA, Homeland Security, CIA- it's nearly impossible ta figure out who's responsible for what! It's a bloody wonder anything got done a'tall."

* * *

Nathan landed quiet as a cat in the expansive grassy yard and quickly smoothed out his ruffled hair and clothing to make himself presentable. It was late and he didn't expect to run into anyone except for his contact, but it would be just his luck to have a photo snapped of him looking like hell and he just never knew these days who would recognize him and who wouldn't give a damn. He had been on television a lot lately, but he was far from New York and his constituents. He had to be careful about using his ability and normally he wouldn't have except this was a pressing matter. He looked around casually and tried his best to look like he fit in.

"I didn't think you would get here so soon." A voice from behind a tree almost whispered.

"I told you I would get here as soon as I could." Nathan replied squinting to make out a shadow on the trunk.

"Did you take care of everything?" The voice continued.

"I am working on it." He sighed. It had been a very long day for him and he just wanted it to end. He wasn't in the mood for all this cloak and dagger business. It was then that it occurred to him that this was a bad idea. To get caught in a secret rendezvous was dreadful for him as a politician. But as it stood, a casual passerby would just assume he was talking to a tree which was equally appalling.

"You have to find him." The tree warned. "You can't allow Peter to get caught, you know what will happen."

"Yeah, I know." He admitted quietly. He wished the person would give him at least a little bit of credit, he was sticking his neck out as it was. He slowly made his way to the tree and leaned against the trunk. His partner's frame moved incrementally away, but he wasn't worried. "I will take care of it, I promise. But for now it is important for you to lay low." He lowered his head and added, "I will protect you as long as I can, Claire, but we don't have much time."


	15. Chapter 15 Guinea Pig

**Chapter 15- Guinea Pig**

It was a little chilly in the cargo bay, but Peter tried to keep his focus on the task at hand and ignore the stony glare emanating from Sylar, which was not an easy task. He did feel a little guilty in being so harsh in the sickbay, but in all fairness Sylar didn't know when to shut up even after he had been warned. People often mistook Peter for being a milquetoast because he so often chose to look the other way and not retaliate, but even he had limits and he wouldn't hesitate to mess up your day if you had crossed him. It was just such a rare event that it was like witnessing Haley's comet.

The truth was he was upset because as usual Sylar had found his weak spot. Angela was no doubt the most manipulative, despicable, cunning, cold blooded person Peter had known outside of Sylar, but she was still his mother. Call it a habitual flaw because although he knew the things that Sylar said about her were absolutely true, he could still see some good in her as a human being even if no one else could. The same was true of Nathan and even of Sylar himself. Even though most times all he could see was a heartless assassin, sometimes he could see the watchmaker in small glimpses and subtle changes in posture or facial expressions. It was for this reason he was hesitant to destroy him at Kirby Plaza and he hoped to whatever deity existed that he wouldn't have to this time either. He knew Sylar could be a better man, he could see it just under the surface. He chose to believe in redemption and second chances.

McCoy placed what looked like a tin can on a shelf and instructed Sylar to go first. "Seriously?" He asked looking insulted from the can to the doctor. "I once flipped an armored police truck and you are wasting my time with this?"

"Well, if you can't do it…" McCoy shrugged lightly taunting him. Sylar clenched his jaw and sent the can flying to the other side of the bay with a flick of his finger. It was official: he now hated the doctor more than Suresh.

He and Peter took turns making one object after another float until they had both successfully made a shuttle craft hover. "How are you feeling?" McCoy asked in general but directed more toward Peter. "Any fatigue, weakness, nausea…anything?"

"No." Peter answered with a smile. "Just a little cold."

"Then may we proceed to the next experiment?" Spock asked dispassionately. He went into a small control room and pushed some buttons until the far wall of the bay slid open to reveal the darkness of space shielded by a shimmering blue wall. Peter looked on in awe, but Sylar quickly figured the phenomenon out so the thrill was fleeting for him. Still it was ingenious; plasma shields to maintain the balance of positive and negative pressures. Spock returned and instructed, "This shield is sufficient to withstand a direct blast from enemy photon torpedoes, so it is logical that it will also successfully absorb the wattage of electricity that you can project. I see no reason for scaled trials. Perhaps we can gather all of the data necessary if you use as much force as possible."

"But won't that break it and suck us out into space?" Peter asked eyeing the wall apprehensively. He just couldn't trust something so….otherworldly.

"Dumbass." Sylar muttered under his breath. "Plasma is a stable superheated gas which is highly conductive. When we shoot it with electricity it will do nothing but charge the particles and make it even stronger because of the change in the electromagnetic field." When Peter looked suspiciously at him he sighed and continued, "Do you really think these two would stand out here with us if they thought there was even a chance of catastrophic failure? You and I could survive being shot out into space, but they can't!"

"His logic is correct, Peter." Spock reassured. "We would not ask you to perform an act that would place you or this crew in danger."

He was still unsure, but he concentrated hard and threw a stream of blue energy at the wall which to his amusement almost seemed to reach out and mingle with the projected power like those balls of static energy that move with your fingers when you touch it. When he was finished, Sylar rolled his eyes at him as though he were an amateur and took his turn.

While Sylar was busy giving the wall hell, McCoy whispered to Spock, "Are you getting anything?"

"I do not see any unusual activity within the peripheral nervous system that would create such a phenomenon." He answered scanning his pad thoughtfully. "The readings are only slightly higher than if he was at rest."

"Same here." McCoy sighed. "I don't know how the hell they are doing it, but they certainly are."

"Our data is incomplete, Doctor." Spock gently reminded. "Perhaps something will come of further analysis."

"I doubt it." McCoy grumbled. "This is one of those great mysteries that we are never meant to know."

"All mysteries are unsolved problems that resolve with proper and careful study." Spock argued.

"Damn hobgoblin." McCoy muttered under his breath.

* * *

Up on the bridge, Ando stood and stretched to relieve his sore muscles. It seemed like he had been sitting next to Sulu for days looking through pages and pages of useless information. He had to admit that as a former programmer for Yamagato Industries he had done much of the same type of work, but for some reason this seemed especially tedious. Perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't stop looking up to gaze out into space at the huge screen that hung in front of Sulu's station. He still couldn't believe he was in space. He shouldn't have been surprised; his life had taken one impossible turn after another ever since the day Hiro stopped by his cubicle to announce that he could stop time. It may have been boring, but it was important work. For once he was just as responsible for saving the world as Hiro and he sat back down to once again concentrate on the screen.

Jim sat with Noah at Spock's station and fired up the system. He might as well make himself useful while they were still in spacedock. While the system came up, he chatted with his usual vigor. "So, Noah, these guys seem to respect you. Are you like their captain or something?"

Noah chuckled and shook his head. "Not so much like that, no. Let's just say they listen to me because I have been at this for awhile while this is all new to them. I have made lots of mistakes in that time, but I try to help them and I think they know that."

"How do you do it?" Jim asked half laughing. "How are you able to hang around people that could crush you like a bug if they wanted to?"

"They could try…" Noah smiled mysteriously. "Like I told Dr. McCoy, I know them better than they know themselves. You have to look at it from their point of view: what would you do if suddenly one day you could fly, or instantly freeze things that you touched? Who would you tell? _Could_ you tell anyone? Despite what you might think, it is a very lonely existence for them to hide in plain sight. It can also be dangerous if the wrong people know, which is exactly what got us here."

"I can see that." Jim admitted. "People always fear what they are unfamiliar with. It was the same when we first made contact with the Vulcans. Even though they were similar to us, they were still aliens and people panicked for awhile until we realized they were not out to vaporize us with a death ray. Thankfully they were patient people, but if they are absolutely honest they would have to admit that we scared them shitless too."

"Well, alien is a relative term." Noah sighed. "I guess it can just mean anything not ordinarily human."

"I don't know." Jim protested typing on the keypad. "I didn't think I would ever get along with Spock, but sometimes he can be more human than I thought he was capable of. It just goes to show that Vulcans or evolved humans can beat us at our own game, which begs the question: what does it mean to be human?"

Noah was impressed with the younger man. Most of the time he seemed to fly by the seat of his pants, but on closer look it was controlled chaos. "Mr. Bennet! I might have found something." Chekov called with a smile in his voice. "It looks like information on this X-PAR project."

Noah made his way to the console and read the screen with a furrowed brow. He couldn't make heads or tails of what he was reading; it was all highly technical jargon with complex diagrams but he knew someone who could. "Someone get Mohinder up here."

* * *

"Aren't you hungry?" Claire asked Nathan as they sat in the Burnt Toast Diner in Texas. She was halfway through her burger and fries while Nathan's remained untouched in the red plastic wicker basket in front of him.

"Ah…no. I guess not." He smiled. He couldn't get his mind off of how he had come to be in this situation, but it hardly mattered now. He had for all intents and purposes turned his back on his previous life and most likely anyone that was in a position of power to help him. In a way he cursed himself for rushing headlong to find Claire. If he was using his head he would have taken the time to fake his own death to buy more time, but as it was he knew he could never go back to the East coast for fear of being captured. He still had to find Peter and think of a safe place to hide for as long as he could. That would not be easy. Perhaps the best chance they had was Belize or some remote corner of the Earth where the question would not be if, but when they were found.

"You look like you have something to say." She said cautiously. She hadn't spent much time with her biodad- but enough to know when his large brown eyes were full of misery. "C'mon. I am a big girl now. I can take it."

He gave a slight smile because she had grown so much since he first met her that it left him conflicted as to whether he should feel proud or not since he had next to nothing to do with it. "Am I that easy to read?"

"I would hope that you wouldn't try to be the politician with me. Not now." She said quietly.

"Ok." Nathan sighed. "You want the truth? The truth is we are in serious trouble. I can't find Peter and that may be because they already have him. If they do, he is as good as gone. I can't let that happen to you too. We have to run and we can't stop until they get us too because they will. It might take months or days, but as soon as they figure out I jumped ship, the hunt will be on."

"Then go back!" Claire urged wide eyed. "It isn't too late. You can say you went out for a Philly cheese steak or something." She didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Peter may have already been snared, that was something she simply couldn't deal with.

"I can't, Claire." Nathan sighed shaking his head. "I won't. You don't know what you are asking."

"So we just run? Why can't we fight?" She hissed.

"You can't fight people like them, Claire." Nathan patiently explained. "There are way too many and they have weapons that we have never seen before. Our safest bet is to run. Live to fight another day?" He prompted raising his eyebrows.

She sat back in her chair and shook her head in disbelief. "Since when did you grow a yellow tail?" She whispered. "When have you ever turned your back on Peter when he needed you? He could be out there somewhere in a dungeon being used as a guinea pig and you are going to hide?"

He looked back at her with a hardness in his eyes that made her flinch. "If they have him he is as good as dead. And if I hadn't come for you, you would be right there with him. Is that what you want? Is that the way you want to honor his memory? Is that what he would want for you? Don't lecture me about Peter. I have known him a little longer than you. Now you are a grown woman and you can make your own choices. I am going to go pay the bill and then I am leaving. It will be up to you if you want to sit here in this crappy diner alone or if you want to come with me."

Just as he said he would, he paid at the register and walked out the door. He sighed with relief when he heard the bell above the door ring once more as Claire followed him into the darkness. It was a big gamble and he was glad it paid off.

She slowly approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck in order to hang on. "So where are we going?"

"Not sure." Nathan admitted as he held her wrists and shot up towards the blanket of stars overhead.

* * *

Peter was glad he was back in the sickbay. He was starting to feel like a popsicle and the brief moment that he fired up his thermonuclear ability in the engine rooms in a containment box was not enough to warm him entirely. McCoy and Spock observed in full silver fire suits looking every bit like the space men they were.

"This last experiment will regrettably require purposeful injury." Spock said quietly. "We wish to gather real time data on your regenerative abilities. We will attempt to anesthetize the area before making an incision."

"Then you will be wasting your time." Sylar replied. "It won't stick around long enough to work. Give me the scalpel." He instructed holding out his hand.

"We cannot ask you to injure yourself in the name of science." Spock said hesitantly. "That would be unethical."

"No one ever accused me of being ethical." He retorted using his telekinesis to bring the sharp instrument to his hand. "Ready?" On Spock's nod, he quickly drew the blade lengthwise from his wrist to his elbow. Because the blade was so sharp, he hardly felt a thing until the tissue began to pull together again of its own accord.

He handed the instrument to Peter who looked determined. "This whole death wish is really more Claire's thing." He mumbled before taking a deep breath and repeating Sylar's action.

After his wound quickly healed, McCoy sighed and said, "I think we should call it a day, gentlemen. We can test your individual powers tomorrow. Go hit the mess and get some sleep."

"C'mon," Peter invited Sylar, "I can show you your room. It is on the same floor as mine."

"Great." Sylar mumbled. It seemed as though the entire crew conspired to make him spend as much time as possible with his nemesis.


	16. Chapter 16 Problem Solved

**Chapter 16- Problem Solved**

Peter showed Sylar how to operate the door and pointed out the various amenities just as Chekov had done for him although he knew Sylar wouldn't appreciate a second of it. "I can show you the cafeteria. You must be hungry by now."

Sylar slowly turned and looked at Peter quizzically. Did he just ask him out to dinner? "I don't think so, Pete." He sneered. "I would rather starve to death."

"That could take awhile." Peter deadpanned.

"Exactly." Sylar retorted pointing at the door for him to leave.

Peter sighed and left as he was asked. As he made his way down the empty halls he was reminded of the story about the frog and the scorpion. The scorpion asked the frog to carry him across the river because he couldn't swim. The frog refused saying the scorpion would just sting him. The scorpion laughed and said if he did that, they would both drown so he promised not to. The frog got about halfway across the river before the scorpion stung him. As the frog sank he asked the scorpion why he did it to which he said 'because it is my nature' Peter was starting to think that it didn't matter how much patience and kindness he showed Sylar, he would always be stung for his efforts. The elevator opened and he smiled at Mohinder and Chekov. "Where you guys headed?" He asked stepping inside.

"I'm not sure." Mohinder laughed nervously. "I feel like I am going to see the Wizard of Oz."

"Ve are going to the bridge so you can see vhat ve found." Chekov reminded him. "About the project."

"What project?" Peter inquired with a squint.

"The project that ve think your brother vas involved in to make you all disappear." He said quietly. He didn't want to sound too accusatory, but he also thought he should answer the question. To his relief, Peter didn't seem insulted in the slightest nor did he seem at all surprised.

Mohinder stepped onto the bridge and gasped slightly at all of the technology that blinked and shone with bright white light around him. Chekov let him get an eyeful before gently directing him to his station where Noah and Matt waited. Scotty had made way for them and stood quietly talking with Sulu and Uhura.

"Mohinder, what can you make of this?" Noah asked casually.

The geneticist scanned the information that flowed across the screen and smiled lightly. "It is a mapping of the human genome." He pointed at various bits of the diagram currently on display and added, "This is an X chromosome, the long arm. Was this meant to be a quiz?"

Noah didn't even smile at his joke and instead asked in a serious tone, "Does X-PAR mean anything to you?"

"Um…..no." He thought quickly. "Is it supposed to?" He looked back at the screen that trolled with band markers and their associated functions.

"We were hoping it would." Matt sighed. "Whatever this is, it seems to have something to do with a secret program that Nathan was running."

"You think he was doing genetic research?" Mohinder asked skeptically. "What for?"

"To kill us." Peter answered folding his arms across his chest. "He was never any good at science so he wasn't doing it for his own interests."

"Can you take a closer look at this so we can have a better idea of how this fits into the bigger picture?" Noah requested.

"Of course." Mohinder agreed. Chekov loaded the file onto his PADD and gave it to him to examine.

"You guys have been working hard up here all day." Jim announced stretching. "Why don't you all clock out and get some rest. It will all still be here tomorrow."

Everyone but Peter, Noah, and Jim managed to cram onto the turbolift to go to the cafeteria. While they were waiting, Peter asked Noah, "So how is Hiro? Is he well enough to go back yet?" When Noah looked at him confused Peter laughed. "Oh come on. Don't tell me you didn't plan on going back to look for Claire."

"I did." He reluctantly admitted. "But I can't ask Hiro to make another trip, not yet. Something tells me Dr. McCoy might have something to say about that."

"Now you're getting it." Jim laughed. "Trust me, you do not want to piss off Bones. Not that this is in any way my business, but I have a suggestion. If I was in your shoes, I would move heaven and hell to go back to get my daughter. Right now Hiro can't do that, but Peter could." His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"He has a point." Peter shrugged. "I could just take it from Hiro and go get her. You know that the longer we wait the slimmer her chances."

"And what if you go back and get caught?" Noah protested. "I don't know that you should be off the ship with Sylar walking around."

"He's fine." Peter stated with authority. When Noah raised his eyebrows, he caved. "I know because I read his mind, ok? In fact he is a little freaked out by this whole situation and he is trying to spend his time figuring out how it all works."

"That's what I am afraid of." Noah groaned.

"It will buy me enough time to go back." Peter persisted. "I will be back before you know it." Noah hated himself for letting Peter play on his emotions, but nothing was more precious to him than his Claire Bear.

* * *

It didn't take Sylar long to figure out the replicator in his room which was fortunate because the last thing he had to eat was ice cream who knew how long ago. He stuck with something simple and had a bowl of wonton soup. While he sat utterly alone in his room his mind wandered to places he wished it wouldn't go.

All he could think about was the fine line between life and death. More precisely how long his life would be and how much he just wanted to die. It was no secret that he had attempted suicide in his watch shop after he had killed his first victim. He didn't want to be a monster, he just wanted to be special.

Just being present so far in the future reminded him of how much time he had to look forward to once he went back and he simply didn't want to wander the Earth that long. He had only had his powers for about three years and already he was growing weary of running. Life had no meaning anymore and he took no pleasure in anything. For the first time since that fateful day in the shop, he began to seriously ponder the possibility of successfully ending his life.

It wasn't like anyone would miss him. After all he had done there was no one to mourn him and in some respects that didn't bother him. He had been so alone for so long he had forgotten what it was like to have that kind of dependency on another. He couldn't kid himself, the only reason Noah brought him was to use as a lab rat. It wasn't for some lofty humanitarian purpose. He looked around the sterile white room and felt claustrophobic. He was being held in a tin can and he just couldn't stand having his freedom limited.

Although his regenerative ability ensured his survival, he knew the one surefire way to short circuit it. It would be messy, but it would get the job done. Now he just had to figure out a means.

* * *

Down in sickbay, Spock and McCoy poured over the hundreds of data points they had gathered looking for any kind of a pattern that could be remotely interpreted as abnormal. "Muscle response is within normal range, neurological functioning is intact, not even so much as dilated pupils." McCoy summed with an exasperated sigh. "These people look like you and…well they look like me at least."

Spock let the insult slide and continued analyzing the data in silence for quite some time until finally he muttered, "Fascinating."

For as long as McCoy had known the Vulcan he knew this to be code for 'Hot damn!' and he perked up immediately. "What? What did you find?" He asked anxiously.

"I believe I have found an anomaly within the data gathered on their brain waves." He responded trying to keep his excitement in check. "In every instance, when Sylar engaged one of his abilities, there was a slight but statistically significant increase of beta waves indicating increased alertness or concentration."

"Ok…" McCoy hummed looking through Peter's data.

"Furthermore, at the initial action of an ability there were bursts of gamma waves. This may represent the formation of different populations of neurons into a network for the purpose of carrying out the desired cognitive or motor function. If we can correlate the location of these bursts with specific actions we may have a mechanism."

McCoy chuckled as he confirmed Spock's findings.

* * *

Peter ate his tuna sandwich in silence while he planned his strategy. For some reason, Sulu sat across from him and would look away every time he glanced up. Uhura also seemed to be avoiding eye contact as well, but Scotty was peppering him with one question after another until he begged fatigue and asked politely to be left alone.

"Are you ok, Peter?" Hiro asked concerned when he abruptly got up to leave.

Peter smiled down at his friend and gave him a pat on the back. "I will be fine, Hiro. I am just a little tired." He felt bad about lying to him and worse yet surreptitiously stealing his power, but sometimes things just didn't go the way you wanted them to. It was better he go than risk Hiro's health. He glanced at Noah and gave an imperceptible nod. As soon as he was alone, he closed his eyes and vanished without a trace.


	17. Chapter 17 Eureka!

**Chapter 17- Eureka!**

Peter started his quest in the only place that made sense to him: his apartment in New York. He stopped off for a shower and a change of clothes primarily, but his intent was to try to track down Claire and the sensible thing to do was to start by calling her. As he dried his hair, he checked his answering machine and was surprised that between it and his voicemail for his cell phone he had missed a total of 13 calls- overwhelmingly from Nathan of all people.

One of Nathan's last messages gave him pause. "Pete, I haven't seen you in awhile and I thought we might spend some time together. Why don't you see if you can get some time off and we can go to the cabin by the lake. Let me know. Bye."

To a casual listener, it sounded like a nice invitation from a close brother, but to Peter it set off alarm bells. That was code speak from Nathan that translated to "Run!" The cabin he was referring to was an actual place that his family owned, but he used to play hide and seek with Nathan there growing up and it was considered a safe place. In this case, Nathan was telling him to seek safety in a metaphorical sense.

Peter cautiously glanced out the windows, but didn't notice anything strange. But then again, what passed for strange in his neighborhood set the bar pretty high. Still, he hurried to finish dressing while he dialed Nathan's number. "Hello?" Came a woman's voice that caught Peter off guard.

"Uh….I'm sorry." He stammered slowly. "I think I have the wrong number."

"Peter?!" The voice cried with joy. "Is that you?"

A smile crept across his face when the voice registered. "Hey, Claire."

"Pete?!" Came Nathan's voice. The abrupt change startled him as well as the urgency it contained. "Pete, where are you?"

"New York." He answered trying to balance the phone with his shoulder as he put on his shoes. He still didn't trust his brother enough to give him anything but a vague description of his location.

"Jesus, Pete! You have to get out of there! Your apartment is under surveillance and it is only a matter of time before they find you!" Nathan hissed as though he should have known all along. Peter wanted to curtly tell him that he had spent the last few days far in the future onboard a starship, so he hadn't really been keeping up with the news lately. "You can't let them get you. Remember your class trip your junior year? Wouldn't it be nice to do it all again?" He asked cryptically.

Peter thought about it and hesitantly replied, "I guess." The truth was that his junior trip was the worst he had ever experienced. He had contracted malaria in a zone where it wasn't supposed to exist in Mexico. It was the sickest he had ever been in his life and Nathan had to come and get him to take him home after almost 10 days alone writing in pain in what passed for a hospital. Having a fever in 100 degree heat was his conceptualization of Hell and it was a miracle that the unsanitary conditions didn't get him before the malaria did. When he was released into Nathan's custody (after a sizable donation for 'care' that he didn't actually receive) he was 22 pounds lighter and pale, but glad for it all to be over. No, he really didn't want to do it all again but at least this time he wouldn't be taken down by a stupid mosquito- his regenerative ability would see to that.

"Great. Well, we will have to meet up sometime." Nathan said cheerily.

It amazed Peter how well Nathan could pretend in the most stressful of circumstances. He for one didn't have the desire or the talent required and that was why he was a paramedic and Nathan was a politician. "Yeah. See you around." Peter said quickly as he noticed the sound of many footsteps shuffling up the staircase in the hallway. He hung up and had just enough time to grab his coat and disappear when men dressed in black busted down his door, weapons drawn.

* * *

Spock and McCoy stopped by Mohinder's lab when they noticed a light had been left on. They found the obviously exhausted and disheveled scientist staring blankly at the PADD Chekov had given him.

"Even doctors need rest once in awhile." McCoy said grimly leaning against a counter. It was completely hypocritical of him, but it was almost an inside joke between all doctors.

"Yes, I know." Mohinder laughed as he snapped to attention and rubbed his eyes. "I was hoping that in the future there would be supercharged caffeine readily available."

"Sorry to disappoint you." McCoy smirked. "Any luck yet?"

"The crew upstairs had apparently found a connection between a secret project that is related to our disappearance, but I can't see how that could be. All of this information is just standard genetic mapping. If there is a smoking gun among this data, I am failing to see it." He sighed despondently.

"May I?" Spock asked politely gesturing to the PADD.

"Knock yourself out." Mohinder replied handing it to him.

"Your euphemisms are a never ending source of amusement, but I hope it will not come to that." He mused looking over the diagrams.

"Don't pay him any mind." McCoy growled rolling his eyes. "Trying to joke with him is like complimenting a computer. He can't help it he is missing the gene for humor. Damn Vulcan."

"On the contrary, Doctor. I do understand your 'jokes' as you call them. The problem lies not with my comprehension, but with your inability to make them comical in the first place." Spock retorted calmly.

Mohinder thought it impolite to laugh, but he was amazed when he realized that Spock may not have been entirely human. Despite his different appearance, most notably his pointed ears, he didn't even consider the possibility of such evolved life forms on other planets. It just seemed like another branch in the evolutionary tree to have pointed eared humans if evolved humans existed. "You are from another planet, Mr. Spock?" He asked in awe. "Forgive me, but that is an incredible step for science. It would be unthinkable in my time."

"Indeed." Spock agreed. He saw no need to elaborate since he felt his response covered both of Mohinder's statements. "Human genetics are slightly different than those of Vulcans…"

"That is an understatement." McCoy scoffed. "I still have no idea how in the hell you are put together."

"However," Spock continued without the slightest acknowledgement of McCoy's grievance, "it would appear that the diagram and accompanying materials focus on one particular region of the X chromosome. Is there any significance to this region?"

Mohinder took back the PADD and looked over the diagram again. "Well, in general terms it is the pseudoautosomal region. It is found on both the X and Y chromosomes. It is thought that it is responsible for normal development and it resistant to x-inactivation in the case of females where two X chromosomes are present." As soon as the words left his lips it all began to make sense. "That's it!" He cried excitedly. "The pseudoautosomal region of the X chromosome. X-PAR!"

McCoy raised his eyebrows in appreciation, but Spock remained stoic as usual even though the scientist in him was jumping for joy as well. "And what is the implication of this discovery in light of evolved humans?" He inquired.

"Well, I am not certain, but if I were to guess I would say that this area was being targeted because every human has at least 1 X chromosome from the mother which eliminates sex-linked contamination. If this region is responsible for normal human development, then that is likely where I will find the mutation I am looking for! Perhaps the project was to somehow disrupt this mutation or change the sequence, but either way it would be an ingenious way to neutralize an ability. If you can change the genetic code at the cellular level, you can change an entire person." His voice trailed off in wonder at the possibilities.

* * *

Hiro and Ando wandered the halls of the Enterprise looking for Peter. His behavior at dinner was worrisome and Hiro thought the polite thing to do was to check on him one last time to ensure that he was not in need of any assistance before turning in for the night.

"He said he was just tired." Ando sighed. "I think he just wants to be left alone."

"And I will- after I know he is ok." Hiro persisted.

"He is fine." Ando countered. "He can heal, remember? He can't be sick and being sleepy never killed anyone."

"It is the honorable thing to do." His friend replied in the flat tone that clearly indicated that the conversation was now over. Ando rolled his eyes because it was hopeless and he knew it.

The two stood outside of Peter's door, but got no answer. Hiro furrowed his brow and Ando took the opportunity to point out the obvious. "Maybe he is in the bathroom. Or maybe he is _sleeping_!"

"No. Something is not right." Hiro observed. "I just know it."

"Did he teach you to read minds?" Ando taunted.

The conversation quickly died, however, when Sylar emerged from his room with a dark expression on his face. He gave only a passing glance at the two men until Hiro called, "Do you know where Peter is?"

Sylar stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face the odd little man. "How the hell should I know?" He asked bitterly. "Am I his keeper or something?"

"No." Hiro stammered. "I just thought you may know." He gestured to the proximity of their rooms as an explanation.

Sylar followed and quickly added "Well I don't, nor do I care."

When he was out of sight Ando whispered, "We need to find Peter."

Luckily, a friendlier face appeared from around the corner. Jim looked over his shoulder in the direction Sylar had gone and shook his head. He still thought this might be the biggest mistake of his career and if he thought the last meeting with Starfleet brass was bad, he could just imagine what being called on the carpet for this would be like.

"Mr. Kirk!" Hiro called cheerily.

Jim put his hands on his hips and sighed deeply. "It's Jim." He reminded. Why was that so hard for people to understand? It wasn't like 'Jim' was a particularly hard name to remember.

"Do you know where Peter is?" Ando asked cutting to the chase.

"Not off hand." Jim admitted with a frown. "But we can ask the computer." The men followed him to a black panel in the wall and watched with glee as he asked in an authoritative voice, "Computer, what is the location of Peter Petrelli?"

"Peter Petrelli left the ship at 1822." The computer replied in a pleasant voice.

"Left? Where did he go?" Hiro asked worried.

"Unless he knows how to fly a shuttlecraft, probably back to get Noah's daughter." Jim shrugged.

Ando and Hiro looked at each other in sheer horror.

* * *

Sulu walked with Uhura and Chekov to the rec room where they could blow off some steam before calling it a night. "God that was stressful." Sulu sighed strapping on his fencing equipment. "I was sure that he could read my thoughts every time he looked at me. I spent dinner thinking about ponies, rainbows and flowers. If he was reading my thoughts he probably thinks I am a fruitcake."

"Better that than knowing what will happen to him, or could happen, or…" Uhura trailed off. "The whole time travel thing sure messes with your head, doesn't it? Just because something can happen, does it mean it will?"

"Vhat do you mean?" Chekov asked twirling his fencing sword.

"I mean if he somehow does go back, is his fate set in stone? What if one small thing happens like he waits to cross the street and by doing so avoids his brother by a fraction of a second? Will he just die some other way immediately or will he live for years?" She clarified as she stretched in preparation for a bout of kickboxing with a punching bag.

"I do not know, but if you remember Mr. Spock said that our lives had changed because of the Narada moving in time. Ve do not know in vhat vay they changed, but they did. It makes sense that the evolved humans coming has also changed them again, but ve vill never know how." Chekov shrugged.

"That kind of sucks." Sulu observed with a frown. "What if I made some awesome discovery and changed the field of botany but because they came that future no longer exists?"

"Or what if you were killed in an accident two days from now, but they prevented it?" Uhura countered. "We can't be upset about a future we will never know. They may be able to see the future, but we can't. We just have to live our lives one day at a time."

"Sounds good to me." Chekov smiled.

"You always agree with her!" Sulu laughed. "Probably because you know she can kick your ass."

"She vould have to catch me first and I can run wery fast for a wery long time." He replied as he prepared to face off with his friend.

"You have to sleep sometime." Uhura warned with a smile landing a hard punch on her bag.


	18. Chapter 18 Run!

**A/N: So I have to say that this had been planned and damn Kiring for ruining my plotline. RIP Nathan Petrelli- may he live on in our memories for his sad puppy dog eyes and in our hearts through fanfic where he can suffer any number of deaths but always find a way to come back (kinda like the show).**

**Oh yeah, and damn Sylar. I used to like him, but he has crossed the line with this one. I count Peter's go with the nail gun as fair and would like to see a little more of his sadistic side…it's kinda sexy, really. **

**Chapter 18- Run!**

"_I'll sing it one last time for you_

_Then we really have to go_

_You've been the only thing that's right_

_In all I've done…_

_To think I might not see those eyes_

_Makes it so hard not to cry_

_And as we say our long goodbyes_

_I nearly do…_

_Have heart my dear_

_We're bound to be afraid_

_Even if it's just for a few days_

_Making up for all this mess"_

"_Run" –Snow Patrol_

Sylar was quite surprised that he was able to wander the halls of a powerful spaceship so freely without so much as a second glance. On second thought that wasn't entirely true: almost everyone he had passed took a long look over their shoulders at the man they had no doubt been warned was a monster- he could see it plainly in their wide eyes and suddenly pale complexions. And the more he saw the more he hated it.

What he hated more was the fact that he couldn't deny it.

He thought back to the days when he was just Gabriel Gray, a quiet man who preferred sweaters that made him look like a young Mr. Rodgers and long hours in solitude among the softly ticking clocks in his dusty shop. He had become so far removed from that life he felt as though it belonged to another person or perhaps it was a story he had read somewhere. But deep down he knew he had lived the life of a simple man who expected nothing but wanted everything.

He had spent so many years becoming desensitized by the suffering of others in the pursuit of abilities that would enhance his superiority he had become some hideous boogeyman parents tell their kids about to keep them in line. Except he really did exist and with each new acquisition he was forced to rationalize his actions to ever greater extents until this moment when he could no longer justify his actions.

Simply put, he was tired. Tired of the mental acrobatics, the running, even his very existence. How many powers would ever be enough? What was the point of it all anyway? He had no ambitions of world domination; he didn't want to be the god of his own country with natives that worshiped at his feet night and day. At the outset he thought that he had to become powerful so others couldn't hurt him- the way that Bennet had- the way his family had- the way Elle did. But it was beginning to dawn on him that no power he could ever acquire could prevent that from happening. His current situation was proof positive. He couldn't stop Hiro and Bennet from capturing him and bringing him to this isolated place where he had nowhere to go.

Suddenly, green man be dammed, he couldn't care less if the species died out. He no longer wanted to play the game and if his own survival didn't matter, why did anyone else's?

The only ability that was of any value to him at the moment was his aptitude. For the time he had been walking, it quietly hummed along in the background taking notes and making plans. The complete lack of any firearms or weaponry of any kind was problematic to his mission, but his intelligence gave him another option. He had to find Peter.

He wasn't lying when he told Hiro and his sidekick that he didn't know where he was, but his best bet was the medical area on the 5th floor. Of course he could be wrong and he was actually somewhere teaching kids how to make Christmas cards out of macaroni and glitter, but it was the best place to start.

If he lacked the direct means to carry out the deed by himself, he would just have to figure out how to get Peter to do it for him and he had a pretty good idea how based on the day's earlier confrontation. If he managed to do it once at Kirby Plaza, he could do it again.

* * *

Noah stretched out on his bed and placed his hands behind his head as he stared at the plain white ceiling. It was like a projector for his thoughts and what he was watching was something like a horror movie. He knew going into this line of work that there would be times when he would have to be comfortable with morally grey and for the most part he was; but something felt very wrong with Peter going back for Claire. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he had a very bad feeling that there was something that he overlooked. What disturbed him more was that his gut was usually right.

He was man enough to admit that his motivations for this escapade were anything but noble. It was selfish and put Peter in a potentially dangerous situation, but in his mind getting Claire back outweighed anything that may happen to Peter along the way. He could justify this line of thought by virtue of Peter's regenerative ability. If he suffered some physical harm in the process, he would survive although Noah knew as well as anyone that his ability did not extend beyond the physical realm; Peter's empathic tendencies almost ensured that the mental wounds far outlasted the physical ones, but Noah liked to believe that he was resilient. He had to believe it because for all the times that he had his heart ripped out of his chest be it by Angela or his beloved brother, he always found a way to forgive. In some ways, that was his downfall.

Noah hated himself for being so nonchalant about Peter's situation. He hated the fact that once more he was powerless to help his little girl just as he was when Sylar was intent on killing her at homecoming. He had done all he could to stop it, but in the end had it not been for Peter's courage and blind faith he would have succeeded. He just hoped he could pull it off once more and protect her when he couldn't.

* * *

"Sir, I wanted to alert you as you had requested that Sylar is moving about the ship unescorted." The voice of the beta shift security guard called from the intercom.

Jim sighed deeply as he watched streaming video of Sylar stalking the halls with a purposeful gait through the twisting hallways on his monitor across from his bed. He sat heavily and whispered, 'what are you up to?' as he remembered Noah's dire warning about this very thing.

"Sir?" The voice called hesitantly. "Should we attempt to stop him?"

"No!" Jim ordered with a little urgency as he imagined the resulting pile of red shirts with slashed throats. "Just keep an eye on him and make sure all restricted areas are locked down so he can't access them."

"Aye, Sir." The guard curtly replied.

Not everyone knew what he was truly capable of and Jim wanted to keep as much of it a secret as possible. He treated the situation as he would approach a poisonous snake- tread lightly and slowly so as not to provoke an attack. He just wished he had the means to kill it if things got out of hand since Peter was gone. He at once found himself both fascinated by Sylar's otherworldly abilities and angry that he was barely in control of his own ship because of it.

More and more the icy, barren planet of Delta Vega seemed like a fine destination for him, a place where he could do no harm to his crew. His very presence seemed to upset the delicate balance of the ship's staff and that was no easy feat considering most of them had stared down Nero without batting an eye. But then again, Nero was never on the ship and without the red matter he had stolen from Spock Prime, he wasn't shit. At least that was his humble opinion.

Spock. In a way, he understood how Peter and the others must have felt. He had experienced the oddities of time travel himself, both from Spock Prime's perspective and his own accidental adventure and it was enough to make his head swim like it used to when he was thrown over a table at some backwoods bar and beaten mercilessly while he was stone drunk. Even speaking about it was hampered by confusing personal pronouns and tenses, which was the primary reason he never talked about it with Spock. Well, that and he promised Spock Prime he wouldn't for fear of screwing up the space-time continuum. He was never really sure what would result if he did; perhaps Spock would spontaneously explode like a delayed doppelganger effect or maybe the entire universe would just blink out of existence.

He may very well have screwed up the temporal fabric this time, but he didn't promise squat to anyone. Besides, there was no point in looking back. What's done is done even if it wasn't the way fate had planned. But hey, even she deserved a surprise now and again and who better than James T. Kirk to put a smile on her face? And if she was less than thrilled, she would no doubt pay him back someday. It wasn't like he didn't have several checks in the mail already.

* * *

Peter used the napkin that came with his water to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead. The oppressive heat brought back those terrible memories of when he was sick. He was so dehydrated from days of vomiting and diarrhea that he didn't have enough fluid in his body to sweat in the first place. He swore even his eyeballs were sticky from lack of moisture, but one look across the table at Nathan reminded him of the relief that washed over him when his older brother appeared in the doorway to his small and unclean room where he lay on a threadbare mattress. Peter didn't believe in angels, but if they did exist he was convinced they would look like Nathan did that day.

Nathan's large brown eyes wandered from the multicolored fiesta lights that hung from the roof of the patio to his brother who seemed to be far away at the moment. "Pete?" He called leaning across his beer. "Are you feeling ok?"

Claire glanced at her uncle, but seemed unconcerned. He often looked that way but then again, people didn't label him as a dreamer without reason. She was just happy to hear his voice on the phone and even more relieved to see him in the flesh and know he was indeed ok. He had always occupied a special place in her heart since the day he appeared out of nowhere to go toe to toe with Sylar back in Odessa.

A slow, lopsided smile slid across Peter's face. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I'm good."

"Ok then…" Nathan drawled completely unconvinced but not willing to dwell on it, "mind telling me where you have been for the past few days? I was starting to feel like a stalker."

Peter's muddled eyes narrowed somewhat as he struggled with what to tell him. He didn't want to lie to his brother, but the truth didn't sound very appealing either. Finally, he settled on a half truth. "Noah and Hiro found a safe place for us to hide and I went too, but I had to come back." He bit his lip and felt a sickness churning in his stomach that his regenerative ability couldn't touch when Nathan's thoughts sounded clear as a bell. "_You came for Claire…..not me_."

"That's…that's great news, Pete." Nathan hummed without letting on he was secretly crushed inside. Ever the poker face. _But it's ok, because I know I don't deserve it._

Peter wanted to scream that it wasn't true although he knew the others would likely want to kill him on sight. He had forgiven his brother just as he always had, probably as he always would because he knew it was all a mistake. He knew his brother wasn't a bad person. In his mind he was still the hero that rescued him from that dreadful hellhole of a hospital, and the one who stayed with him when he had hurt himself trying to fly by jumping off a roof even though having a 'mentally ill' relative was damaging to his political aspirations, and he was the one person who stuck by him even as he was being burned alive when he couldn't control his radioactive power. Nathan, his hero, was determined to spend his last moments with him as they flew up into the stratosphere. Nathan wasn't just his personal hero, he was to millions although they could never know it. "You should come too, Nathan." He choked out in a barely controlled voice. "You can help us figure this whole thing out."

"I don't think so, Pete." Nathan quickly smiled although his heart was aching. In a way he envied Peter for being able to wear his heart on his sleeve; there was never any doubt as to how he felt, no lost moments, nothing left unsaid, no regrets. "I think it is better if you just take Claire and don't tell me where you are going." He took a long hit of his warm beer to dull the pain inside that threatened to tear him in two over the reality that if all went well he would never see them again.

There was some kind of ruckus in the main dining area that thankfully broke the tension at the table until men dressed like a SWAT team stormed the patio with guns aimed at Nathan yelling "Policia! En el piso! Ahora!" Although his Spanish was rusty, Nathan reflexively put his hands up and whispered to Peter, "Run!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Peter spat defiantly as he reached for his brother's wrist to whisk them all away. He never got the chance because some of the men fired their weapons when they interpreted his movements to be aggressive. Peter staggered backwards and looked down at his chest to what looked like four tranquilizer darts clustered around his heart. Initially he thought nothing of it and trusted his regenerative ability to take care of things except for the fact that it clearly wasn't.

He began to stagger as his vision went blurry and he felt weak all over. He tried to pull the darts out in the hopes of stopping the reaction, but he pawed at them awkwardly until he lost his balance and fell to the ground. He could barely hear Claire's frightened scream or Nathan calling his name frantically. As he lay on the dirt path by the cantina, he struggled to breathe and a calmness came over him. He was dying, but he wasn't afraid. He felt his mind slip into a murky confusion and from out of the darkness came Hiro's voice. "Peter Petrelli?"

Hiro had quickly taken stock of the situation when he arrived and had frozen time for everyone except he, Peter, and Claire. He cursed himself for being late but he had to do some research into where Peter went for his junior class trip and that took longer than expected given his difficulties. Peter looked very sick then, but he looked almost worse now as his body was taken over by sporadic tremors and each breath was a struggle. He held Peter's head in his lap and bowed closely to make out what he thought Peter was trying to say.

"Na..." Peter gasped, "ple…"

"I think he wants you to take Nathan too." Claire whispered as she held his hand in an attempt to offer what comfort she could. He already had her healing ability, but it clearly wasn't working which left her with nothing else to do.

Hiro watched as Peter fought to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head and he knew he had a choice to make. He was almost certain he could not take all three with his failing powers and Peter was in dire need of medical attention. He would have to ignore his friend's wishes for the time being and come back for Nathan at a later time even though he deserved to die for what he had done.

Nathan turned once more and was relieved to see that for once Peter listened and got Claire out despite being shot. He hoped that the effects of whatever was in the darts was temporary, but that was a bigger reaction than he was expecting and he felt a rage boil up inside of him at the men who had harmed his brother.

Figuring he had nothing left to lose, he relented to all of the repressed anger and primal aggression that had lay dormant for years and attacked the men because he knew that if he didn't die fighting he would die in a lab in a cornfield in the middle of Iowa for his treachery. With each blow he landed, his basic combat training he had learned in the Navy came back and each punch was more powerful than the last, fueled by the mental image of his brother's suffering that had been seared into his memory.


	19. Chapter 19 Past, Present and Future

**Chapter 19- Past, Present and Future**

Sylar entered the sickbay and immediately noted the flicker of fear on a nurse's face at the sight of him. On any other day he would have felt a small burst of pride, but today it just disgusted him. She couldn't have been any more inconsequential to him than if she had never been born; she had nothing he wanted. She could rest easy knowing he would ignore her so she could go about her pathetic little life without so much as a second passing glance.

He stopped short as he passed the entrance of Mohinder's lab when out of the corner of his eye he spotted what looked like DNA kayrotypes lining the wall. Male, if he was not mistaken and something told him it wasn't Peter's building blocks he was looking at. There was something inexplicably familiar about it; his aptitude told him so although it didn't bother to explain why.

He silently approached the busy scientist while he was completely engrossed with looking into his microscope. He stood behind him peering over his shoulder and smirked despite himself when Mohinder said, "Nothing yet, but I believe the maps may have been depicting a normal X chromosome…perhaps it was from a preliminary phase of the project." He suddenly straightened and Sylar took a step to the side and danced around him to remain in his blind spot while he approached the illuminated wall. "If you look closely at Sylar's X chromosome, there is a slight variation just here." He explained pointing to a sliver of light colored material on one of the films. "Now, we don't know anything of his biological parents, but in order for him to have this variation he must have inherited it from his mother. Which can only mean that she also had an ability."

"Is that so?" Sylar asked in a low, growling voice that nearly sent Mohinder out of his skin in shock. "You really shouldn't gape like that. You look like a fish gasping for air." He chided as he casually hopped up on a nearby counter. "But I am intrigued by this theory of yours. You think my mother had an ability?"

"I…well." Mohinder stammered trying to regain his faculties. He really couldn't help it, it was like having Satan sneak up on you. "If the variation is indeed responsible for the manifestation of abilities, then I would have to say yes." He cleared his throat and tentatively asked, "Did she?"

Sylar's eyes fell to the floor and remained there for an uncomfortable length of time before he finally gave a desperate laugh. "I don't know. I don't really remember her. When I think about her, all I can see is her lying in the gravel parking lot of the restaurant with a line cut across her forehead…the look of complete shock on her pale and bloody face." He shook his head slowly and mumbled, "I thought she was just sleeping."

Mohinder shifted his weight and thought desperately of something to say, but he just couldn't make himself offer comfort to the man that had murdered his father. Still, he couldn't ignore the obvious parallel of his mother's death and the way he often chose to dispatch his victims. He wanted to think that Sylar was cold enough to have done it himself except that it seemed it was a very early recollection, perhaps even that of a child, and he doubted his abilities would have appeared by then. From what he knew, Sylar's abilities had only come about around the time of his father's death. And while he had come to see Sylar in a different light, he still couldn't find it in himself to show compassion.

"Dr. McCoy!" The nurse in the main bay screamed. "Come quick!" Sylar and Mohinder instinctively ran to the door to see Peter convulsing on the floor surrounded by Hiro and Claire looking on with frightened expressions. "Oh my God." Mohinder breathed. He had never seen Peter in such bad shape and honestly he never though he would which made it all the more shocking.

"My God, man!" McCoy exclaimed sliding to a stop next to him from a dead run. "What the Hell did he get into?!" He demanded of Hiro.

"I do not know!" Hiro protested. "The men shot him."

"Who shot him?" McCoy pressed trying his best to wrestle Peter onto a biobed. With all his shaking and flailing it was like trying to hold onto a greased pig. Suddenly his patient became weightless and floated onto the bed of his own accord and McCoy looked across the room to see Sylar with his hand outstretched. He gave a quick nod of thanks before returning to his duties.

"I don't know who they were." Claire answered hovering over her uncle nervously. "But no doubt they were part of the same outfit that was hunting us." She glanced to her right to see Sylar and a knot twisted tight in her stomach. Peter said he was taking her to a safe place, if Sylar was there it wasn't safe.

"Well it doesn't matter now, Missy." McCoy growled bumping her out of the way to give him more room to work. "And if you want to see him standing and breathing on his own again you will get out of the way." He briefly frowned down at the man he swore was invincible and set to work by pulling out one of the darts and handing it to a tech. "Get that analyzed so we have a better idea of what we are dealing with." When he returned, the bed was empty. "What the…."

"He just disappeared." The nurse mumbled in complete disbelief.

After a tense moment, a blue energy crackled along the form of a person on the bed and slowly Peter reappeared before partially fading a few more times. "It's like he has lost control of his powers." Mohinder observed. McCoy had a lot of very difficult patients in his time, but he was at a complete loss on how to treat an invisible man. Sylar quickly made his way to Peter's side and threw the hardest right he could manage. McCoy was about to yell at him when he noticed that Peter had finally fully materialized. Sylar held up Peter's hand which still lingered with a faint yellow light before letting it drop with a warning glare and returning to his post.

If he hadn't cold cocked him they would have all been burnt to a crisp. McCoy found himself giving the killer a second thank you nod and he found it was one habit he wouldn't mind forming. He then turned his attention to the monitors above the bed and was dismayed by the information they held. "Dammit." He sighed as he watched Peter lapse into a coma. He quickly but efficiently began the procedures to maintain him on life support until a solution could be found and mumbled to himself, "What the hell did you do, kid? God so help me you are just as bad as Jim."

* * *

Even though he was desperately weak he was never one to let down a friend; to do so would bring dishonor and shame. It was especially important not to go against the wishes of a now dying man. Hiro watched quietly from across the road as Peter, Claire, and Nathan sat at a table on the patio of the cantina sharing drinks in the small Mexican town.

The hospital where Peter had stayed years before was just down the road, boarded up and abandoned. It was almost a shame, Hiro thought as he wiped the blood from his nose. Then again, maybe not as he remembered seeing Peter mumbling to himself in a delirious state while the staff ignored the young American. He knew that even the smallest of changes could have cataclysmic consequences, but he couldn't stand to watch the man who he would come to consider a friend suffer because no one spoke his language. While no one was looking, he froze time and lifted young Peter's head to tip a glass of water to his chapped lips. Luckily, he was so delirious he took the Japanese man for one of the nurses and when he had sipped all that he could hold for the moment, he took leave to continue on with his mission of saving him again from a far worse fate in the future.

He watched the armored men swarm the front of the building and come out the side door, guns pointing at Nathan. Then Peter suddenly lunged forward and was shot before falling to the ground. He chuckled when he watched himself appear and gather he and Claire. Even though he had watched himself from a distance before, it was always strange. As he made his way across the road, he was startled to see Nathan throw an uppercut worthy of Rocky at one of the men. He had never considered Nathan a violent man, at least not so overtly. The mêlée thickened and Hiro found himself near the throng completely unnoticed. He reached out and grabbed the hem of Nathan's pants from under a table and in an instant, he and Nathan were the only men aware of motion.

Nathan looked down at the hand that held a wad of his clothing from under the table. He narrowed his eyes as he panted from spent adrenaline. "Hiro?" He called somewhat confused looking around at the static forms that surrounded him. "You can come out now."

Hiro crawled out from his shelter and straightened his shirt before greeting with a small bow, "Flying Man."

Nathan smirked slightly remembering the first time he met the time traveler outside of a diner in Las Vegas. That was the day he really tried to fly and ended up sliding into the gravel parking lot wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms and an embarrassed smile. He glanced around and noted that Peter was still absent which in his book was a good thing. "What are you doing here, Hiro?" He asked taking a drink from his beer which somehow miraculously hadn't been spilled in the fray. "Is Peter ok? He went where you were, right?" He fought hard to keep the panic out of his voice although he had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"He did." Hiro confirmed quietly. "But he is not well. With his last breath he asked me to come for you."

Nathan slammed his glass down on the table. "What…what do you mean his last breath?!" He demanded. "What the hell happened to him? Is he dead? What happened to his healing ability?" The questions steamed out of him at a pace that made Hiro's head swim trying to translate the torrent.

"No, no, not dead." He reassured the anxious man. "But he is very sick. Very, very sick."

Nathan swallowed hard and forced the words to pass his lips although it was the last thing in the world he wanted. "I can't do that, Hiro. I can't put you all at risk more than I already have. If you have found a safe place to hide then you should stay there." He sighed deeply and debated. "Tell Pete…tell him…"

"No, Flying Man." Hiro said sensing that whatever he was struggling to get out was of a profoundly personal nature, "You tell him." He edged his foot forward until his shoe touched Nathan's and closed his eyes tight.

* * *

Spock sat back in his chair and let out an uncharacteristic sigh of exhaustion. If he were not alone in his quarters he wouldn't have dared be so…human, but he was legitimately fatigued with all that had taken place over the past few days. He glanced down at the PADD where he had been running comparisons of brain wave activity and physical action down to the nanosecond on Sylar's data and he felt he had found a sufficiently high enough correlation to call it evidence.

Simultaneously he had also been working on the genome project with Dr. Suresh to identify mutations within the human X chromosome. As the ship's science officer it was his job to oversee all research, but he usually didn't take such a direct, hands on approach and it was starting to take its toll.

He stood from his chair and slowly stretched his languid muscles until they came back to life. He readied himself for bed and as he lay in the dark, his mind began to question the ethical considerations of this research. While it was a unique opportunity that may well open the door to advances in medicine for humans and practical applications of scientific achievements, something felt misplaced.

He knew from personal experience that possessing a unique genetic makeup could sometimes draw unwanted attention. He spent the better part of his first year at Starfleet being studied, he was told, to better serve him in the event he required medical assistance. He had no reason to doubt them then and his thoughts on the matter hadn't changed since, but he could see how less altruistic entities may have ulterior motives in mind.

It had always lingered in the back of his mind that Starfleet may well order them to turn over the evolved humans to study them and this is why he suggested Jim delay notification. While as an enlisted member he didn't have grounds to protest, the specials were not and had basic rights that may not be respected if the potential gain were great enough. It was only logical to him that Starfleet would want to gain as much knowledge as they could from them to enhance tactical capabilities and perhaps, it was a big perhaps, create abilities of their own if they understood the exact mechanism of expression creating a race of super soldiers.

As disturbing as this thought was, it was a near certainty that other nations such as the Klingons and the Romulans would if they got wind of their presence. Of course, they would not be so sophisticated as to do it in a lab, they would probably force them to breed like livestock. If Vulcans and Humans were genetically compatible enough to produce offspring like himself, he could only guess that Romulans, being a more recent evolutionary offshoot, would be as well.

He took a deep breath and tried to repress the selfish thoughts that surfaced in his mind. Jim had asked him if he would change the course of events on Vulcan if he had the chance and he denied it. While he couldn't justify such a large rift in the space-time fabric, he found himself entertaining the possibility that he could go back with the help of the evolved humans to see his mother just one last time. He wouldn't try to save her. He would just look into her eyes, so much like his own, and hold her gently while he whispered to her how much he loved her. Surely such a small thing would not disrupt the future. She would still perish, but she would do so finally hearing the words of her son who tried so hard to hide his human inheritance.

She had always told him how proud she was of him no matter which path he chose, but he regretted never once telling her how proud of her he was to have been given the choice to begin with.


	20. Chapter 20 Dashed Hopes

**Chapter 20- Dashed Hopes**

Nathan leaned forward in his seat by Peter's side and peered at his comatose brother anxiously. For the first time he actually started feeling the sting of the various cuts and bruises he had accumulated in his fistfight with the armed men, but that was the furthest thing on his mind at the moment. Some of the staff attempted to offer first aid, but he waved them off and continued his vigil.

"You know he won't wake up any faster if you stare at him harder." McCoy groused looking over his chart. Nathan barely acknowledged the doctor and continued to watch Peter closely for any sign of life. McCoy shook his head and turned to the next patient. "Why is it when you show up, you bring people looking like Hell?" He asked Hiro. "First a guy with a knife in his head, then Peter who was nearly dead and now this guy." He jerked his head in Nathan's direction. "But at least you seem to be improving. What did I tell you about overdoing it?"

Hiro didn't want to disrespect the medical professional, but some things just couldn't be explained. "I had to." Was all he could come up with. Indeed as far as he knew, Peter would have died if he hadn't went back to get him even if it meant also going back for his potential killer. It was hard to believe looking at the way Nathan seemed to long for the chance to switch places with his brother that he would ever do him any harm.

"Of course." McCoy shrugged as if that solved everything. "Look kid, I am telling you that every time you go gallivanting across the universe you are doing damage to the vascular structures in your brain. These headaches and nosebleeds are warning signs that you can't push yourself too hard or you will end up with a stroke…or an aneurysm…or God knows what else. Do you understand any of this?" Hiro nodded slowly, prompting McCoy to grumble. "Then why do I feel like I am talking to a brick wall?"

Across the room, Sylar leaned against the doorframe of Mohinder's lab with his arms crossed, studying the films that displayed the bits and pieces that made him what he was. As he looked over the black and white images of squiggly lines, he thought of his mother. He couldn't remember anything about her; no picnics in the park, no pb&j sandwiches with the crust cut off, no kissing skinned knees, no quietly reassuring him that there were no monsters under the bed at night. Nothing but her pale face and the wisps of dark hair that blew softly in the breeze. Did she really have an ability too? If so, what could it have been?

"Sylar." Claire curtly greeted standing between him and the films. He said nothing, instead choosing to stare blankly at her in the hopes that she would just go away before he had to say something truly awful to make her cry. "I can't believe I am even wasting my time, but…" He raised his thick eyebrows in passive interest. Was she really going to ask something of him? "You are supposed to be this evil genius that can figure things out, right?"

"Claire," he scoffed, "if you are attempting to ingratiate yourself to me that is hardly the way to go about it. I see you didn't inherit your biodaddy's social graces."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She retorted in an offended tone. "Should I have kissed your ass first? I am kind of new to this whole megalomania thing."

"You may, if it would make you feel better." He shrugged pinning her against the far wall as he towered over her. "But don't kid yourself. You think you are the center of the universe, princess, and you want to put me in your service. Let me guess, you want me to go figure out what is wrong with Peter. You want me to fix him like a watch, is that it?"

Claire struggled to keep her composure. Although she knew that Sylar wouldn't kill her, she was still afraid of him on some level- the absorbing darkness in his eyes, the vacant look, the pleasure he took in the suffering of others. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. But she had to remind herself that this was for Peter. He had saved her and it was the least she could do for him. "Yes, something like that." She replied keeping her head high. "You know he would help you if he could even though…" she thought better of finishing her sentence although she didn't really have to.

Sylar raised his eyebrow slightly prompting her to finish, but ended up doing it for her. "Because I don't deserve it? I'm not worth saving? Peter's strength is his biggest weakness- the selfless martyr never knows when to just turn his back and walk away, but I do." He leaned in a little closer and watched her flinch. "I would, but you have nothing I want." He replied coldly. "I've already taken what I needed from you." He pushed himself away and turned to leave.

"But it doesn't make you immortal!" She cried in desperation. "Just look at him out there! He is dying, Sylar, which means you can too." He paused before walking away. He didn't feel sorry for Peter, he was envious. That was exactly what he wished for.

* * *

The next morning Chekov, Sulu, Uhura and Scotty gathered on the bridge to resume the search while Matt paced the bridge with a steaming cup of coffee. "Where the hell are Ando and Hiro?" He wondered aloud. The fact that he was the only special present and on time made their kind look bad in his estimation.

The lift doors opened and he readied a smart remark, but fell silent when he saw it was Jim and Noah with Claire in tow. He thought better of insulting the Captain and he knew better than to start a verbal war with Bennet, but the fact that Claire was there meant… He casually strolled over to Uhura and whispered, "Can you find that document again? You know, the one about Peter?" She nodded and set to work retracing her steps.

"Claire, why don't you work with one of these guys to help sort this out?" Jim asked gesturing in Sulu and Chekov's general direction. Chekov immediately sat up straighter and smoothed his shirt while he pleaded with Scotty. "Could you please vork vith Sulu today? Please?! I vould be wery grateful."

Scotty glanced at Claire and back at a slightly blushing Chekov. "Oh, Aye, Ah see." He nodded knowingly. "Dump the old boot for the lass. I get it. Right, but this will cost ya down the way." He grumbled as he got up to take his seat next to a disappointed Sulu.

Sulu frowned across the console at the man who he thought was his friend. "Is this how it's going to be?" He hissed. "Throw your best friend under the bus? I outrank you, you know."

"I outrank the both of ya, now quit your bitchin'." Scotty mumbled as Claire came closer. Chekov smiled grandly and stood to offer her the seat next to him while Scotty and Sulu rolled their eyes.

"Matt," Uhura called softly, "I can't find it."

"What…what does that mean?" Matt stammered trying to make sense of how data could just go missing.

"I don't know." Uhura shrugged. "It isn't like the system to just lose data. Not only is the entry gone, but any traces or references to it. It was like it never existed."

Matt took another hit of his coffee and plucked up the courage to figure this all out although he already had a theory. "Claire," he said quietly as he leaned on the edge of the console in front of her, "where is Peter?"

"He's in the hospital." She replied sadly. "The doctor said he was in a minimally conscious state. Sometimes he seems to know we are there, but other times he just lays there and doesn't respond. They are trying to figure out what was in the darts he was shot with and so far it just looks like neurotoxin, but Mohinder is also looking into it. He seems to think that there was something in the poison that is acting on a genetic level."

It wasn't that the information she provided wasn't useful, it just wasn't what he was getting at. "Ok, who shot him?" He asked redirecting her.

"I don't know." She sighed as though she had been through this story a hundred times. "I guess they work for the government. It wasn't like they were wearing nametags. Hello my name is…"

Matt smirked at the joke and lowered his voice. "But Peter is alive, right? Did you guys… see Nathan… at all?" He asked mysteriously.

Claire thought his tone was strange and also noticed that the young man she was working with suddenly became very interested in his hands as he looked over them nervously. "Yeah…" she drawled watching Chekov with a suspicious squint. "He came to get me and Peter met us in Mexico."

"And he didn't tell you anything about this whole mess I would suppose." Matt prompted. It was a stupid question because he knew that Nathan never showed his cards no matter what. He was the type of guy to side step and obfuscate even if Jesus Christ asked him a direct question.

"Not really, but he is with Peter. Go ask him yourself." She shrugged. "Hiro went back to get him after Peter begged him to. I guess we all should have seen that coming."

If there was one person that was more important to him than Jesus it would be Peter and now may be an ideal time to get him to crack if it was even possible. Her ambivalence to her biological father came as a bit of a surprise to Matt but it shouldn't have considering the complicated circumstances of their relationship. In any case she was not as forgiving as Peter which may not have been a bad thing. He certainly wasn't feeling very charitable toward the senator at the moment.

After Matt headed down the elevator, Chekov quietly commented, "Peter vill be ok. Dr. McCoy is a good man and he vill do all he can to help him. He has managed to bring back our captain many times from terrible situations."

"Really?" Claire asked with a twinkle in her eye as she took in Jim reclining in his command chair chatting with her dad. "Is he that reckless?"

"You have no idea." Chekov chuckled until the dreamy quality in her voice registered and he glanced up to see her still gawking in his direction. His hopes dashed, he concentrated on the task at hand and tried his best to ignore the snickering coming from Scotty and Sulu.

* * *

Nathan stood and stretched his cramped muscles. The chair had become too uncomfortable to be an option and if he was honest with himself he was getting too old for marathon vigils. He paced slightly next to Peter and occasionally reached down to lightly touch his arm or the back of his hand and whisper to him even though it seemed like a waste of time.

"Jesus, Pete." He sighed running a hand through his hair. "You sure know how to scare the daylights out me. This really isn't funny anymore." The monitors above the bed beeped slightly faster and Nathan looked down in surprise. "Pete?" He called hopefully. "Can you hear me?" His breath caught in his throat when his brother's eyelids began to flutter. "If all I had to do was admit that I have been an ass for you to wake up, I would have done that hours ago." He chuckled desperately.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he isn't waking up." McCoy sighed. He really hated being the bearer of bad news, but he saw no need in bullshitting the man who refused to budge from his post for the last 17 hours even to get food or sleep. It seemed the least he could do since no clear answer was forthcoming for his predicament and he felt slightly guilty about that.

"But the monitors…" Nathan protested pointing to them as if it were a cruel trick. "And look, he is trying to open his eyes."

McCoy looked at Peter miserably. This kind of thing was always difficult for him, he wasn't the warm and coddling type and it seemed cruel to crush the man's desperate hopes. He reached down and pushed back Peter's eyelids so they were open and slowly waved his hand in front of his patient's face. Peter's hazel eyes tracked the doctor's hand languidly. "It is a biological reflex." McCoy said gently. "That is all it is. He is not aware of my hand at all. Do you see how his pupils are dilated? He is unconscious."

Nathan clenched his jaw tight and placed his hand on his brother's. When he was finally able to quell the hopelessness that he felt, he asked in a business like tone, "What are his chances of recovery, doc? If there is no hope that he will recover, I want him taken off support. Pete wouldn't want to live this way."

McCoy was briefly appalled by the apparent lack of concern and the coldness in Nathan's voice, but he could see how it might be easier to deal with emotionally if it was reduced to simple fact. "Well, that is not something we have to do now." He replied slowly. "I will be honest with you, here. Peter is unlike any other person I have ever treated. I can't say with any certainty what his outcome is because I do not fully understand his physiology. All I can say is I have watched him do things that were absolutely impossible before, so I wouldn't count him out just yet."

Sylar watched with arms folded from Mohinder's lab. It boggled his mind how Nathan could at once sell out his own brother and then have the temerity to act like he didn't anticipate the consequences of his actions. Peter was notoriously indecisive, but it seemed as though Nathan was as well, just in a different way.

"Dr. Mohinder," Spock called from inside the lab where he had been analyzing the poison since he had received an emergency call several hours ago, "I believe I may have located an anomaly."

"What did you find?" Mohinder asked anxiously.

"I cannot be certain, but I believe I have isolated an additive to the neurotoxin that appears to have immunosuppressant attributes. This may explain why Peter's regenerative ability was not able to fully activate." He reported.

"I see," Mohinder sighed, "but Claire said the men came for Nathan and he can't spontaneously heal. Why would they be carrying ammunition targeted more towards Peter's abilities?"

"Maybe," Sylar said in a bored tone, "the additive is not specifically an immunosuppressant. What if it is a general serum that latches onto our very DNA and modifies itself to counteract whatever ability we have? It all makes sense if you consider the fact that Nathan and his merry band of miscreants were looking for mutations. Perhaps they found it as well as a way to disable it."

"Much like a virus vector." Spock commented. "Fascinating."

"And if this serum changes the very code of the DNA," Mohinder theorized "that means every cell in Peter's body is now damaged. In order to reverse the effects we have to find a way to repair the damage, but we first have to identify the gene the serum works on and that has so far proven to be quite a challenge."

"It could be done," Spock said darkly, "however, it would take a great amount of time to find the correct delivery system. I am uncertain if Peter would survive before we could succeed."

"I could fix him." Sylar smirked. "For a price, of course." He had been aching for a real challenge for his aptitude and this little adventure might just fit the bill.


	21. Chapter 21 The Great Debate

**Chapter 21- The Great Debate**

"_The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed for lack of a better word is good. Greed is right, greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms; greed for life, for money, for love, for knowledge has marked the upward surge of mankind."_

_- Gordon Gekko "Wall Street"_

The conference room on the bridge was packed with all parties concerned and a few who weren't. Sylar had been allowed to pass through the bridge so long as he kept his eyes forward and moved quickly enough not to have time to observe the ship's functions, which he thought was patently ludicrous. He took a seat between Noah and Spock and patiently waited for Jim, Claire, Nathan, Mohinder and McCoy to file in.

"So, you have some news on Peter?" Jim prompted anyone who would answer to get the ball rolling.

"We do." Mohinder tentatively replied. "Mr. Spock has discovered the cause of Peter's condition although the cure will be anything but simple."

"What's wrong with him?" Nathan asked swiveling in his chair testily. He couldn't fathom how he could have spent every second at Peter's side and not have this most basic bit of information. He felt as though he were being kept out of the loop and it pissed him off seeing as how he was the next of kin responsible for healthcare decisions.

"We were hoping that you might tell us." Mohinder smiled nervously. "We can only guess as to what exactly was in the cocktail contained in the darts, but it does appear to be neurotoxin along with an immunosuppressant or a substance that acted as such in his case."

Nathan scoffed and rested his elbows on the table. "Well, don't you think that if I had the answer to that question I might have mentioned it by now rather than watching Pete suffer?"

"I don't know," Noah deadpanned, "would you?"

Nathan shot him a weary look and wished he had the energy to fly across the table and throttle him for even questioning his loyalty to Peter. "Regardless of what the substance is," Spock interjected to diffuse the situation, "it has rendered his genetic code in disrepair. The issue at hand is time. We can continue in our attempts to isolate the gene the substance disrupts and formulate an antitoxin, but in my estimation the process could take weeks if not longer."

"And you are saying he may not hold on that long." Claire summed up trying her best not to stare at the man's pointed ears. She knew a bit about feeling like a freak and she didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. It was disturbing how much he reminded her of Sylar- all except the psychotic murder vibe that he seemed to lack.

"What we are trying to do is put all of the options on the table." McCoy spoke up. "We can keep at it until we come up with a cure, but that will take awhile and as far as Peter goes, I can always place him in stasis if his condition worsens. The problem with that is I can't be certain he would be completely out and not awake but unable to respond."

"Why's that Bones?" Jim asked trying to suppress his horror at the thought of what that would feel like.

"His regenerative ability didn't completely switch off." He explained with an exasperated sigh. "That is why he is in a semiconscious state rather than a deep coma. His body is still trying it's damndest to recover, but it can't. It is like some hellish vicious cycle."

Nathan sighed and let his head fall into his hands. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. It was one thing for his brother to be unaware of his surroundings, but quite another if he was at times lucid and trying to scream for help although there were no outward signs. He didn't want to believe his baby brother could suffer such terror because he knew that he was sensitive and that experience would scar him deeply. Peter didn't deserve this and he cursed himself because it always seemed that Peter paid for his mistakes and it wasn't fair.

"So what other options are there?" Noah asked. As soon as the words left his lips, everyone slowly turned to Sylar- the only person in the room without an obvious vestment in Peter's wellbeing.

"Oh hell no." Nathan muttered when he met the killer's icy eyes. "I don't want that maniac anywhere near my brother!"

"You are the one that attempted to kill us all and I am the maniac?" Sylar scoffed. "That is the epitome of hypocrisy."

"God so help me, Sylar, if you go near him I will…" He growled.

"You'll what?" Sylar smirked cocking his head. "Fly me to the moon? Kill me? I don't think so, Nathan, but the sentiment is touching. Look, we all know that I am the only one that can figure out what is wrong with him and fix it in an expedient manner. That is unless you want to waste your time doing it the conventional way while he rots." He leaned across the table to face Nathan and added in a low tone, "Which is exactly what he is doing down there as we speak."

"I find it hard to believe that you all of a sudden grew a conscience." Noah stated slyly. "Why would you save the one man that is your true equal now?"

"For his powers." Jim observed folding his arms. "He can't take Peter's powers when he is awake, but now he is defenseless to stop him."

Sylar kept a dead smile on his face as he slowly clapped. "Well done, Einstein. Now I see why you get to be the head honcho of this tin can. It has been no secret that I have always wanted to pop Petrelli's skull open ever since I found out he was like me."

"He is not like you, you sick son of a bitch!" Nathan hissed. "He is better than you."

Sylar gave him a petulant look for being interrupted and continued, "It is the evolutionary imperative in action, is it not? Dog eat dog? Survival of the fittest? Greed is what moves the species along, acquiring whatever will give you an advantage. By all rights I should let Peter die for his folly, he is the weaker of us. By aiding him I am preventing nature from taking its course, diluting the gene pool if you will. However, I am willing to help him if I stand to gain and further my own development."

"I don't suppose you could just do it out of the goodness of your heart." Mohinder suggested darkly.

"He doesn't have one." Claire sneered.

Sylar pretended to be crushed by her comment. "Claire, everything comes at a price. I never repaired watches for free, why would I work for free now? My time and skill are worth something. But if the price is too high for you, I suggest you go to another watchmaker. And let's face it- if I really wanted Peter's powers that bad there is nothing and no one stopping me from just waltzing down there and taking them this minute."

"We could shoot you with phasers." Jim suggested. "Your powers don't seem to do squat for that."

"Yeah, it stings like a son of a bitch." He admitted with a growl. "But that is about it."

"There are few abilities that they do not share." Spock observed. "Would gaining them be inadvisable?"

"I can think of one that he has wanted for a long time. Isn't that right, Sylar?" Noah asked warily. Jim and McCoy exchanged confused looks.

"Time travel." Claire droned.

"Ok, this is insane." Nathan declared. "I can't believe we are even discussing this. I think Peter would rather die than let you root around in his skull." He shot Sylar a hate filled glance. "And once he gets the ability to time travel we will all be screwed. No way. I would rather lose my brother than let this psycho have free range." He rubbed his temples in exhaustion.

"Let's ask him." Claire stated. "Let's ask Peter what he wants. If he is at all aware of anything, Matt should be able to read his mind."

"That's a great idea, Claire." Noah smiled. He was proud of his little girl for figuring out a solution to the sticky mess and he didn't care who knew it.

* * *

Out on the bridge, Matt paced to try his best not to eavesdrop. The moment he saw Sylar on the bridge he knew something major was going down. Ando had joined the party and filled everyone in on Hiro's whereabouts and his current condition before everyone settled back in to work.

Rather than work with Chekov, Ando chose Uhura after she agreed to allow him to sit next to her. He had nothing against the young Russian man, but he looked rather sad and Ando would never turn down a chance to work with a beautiful woman. "So," she said lightly, "Matt asked me to find the article from yesterday about Peter and it was gone. Do you have any ideas why that might be?"

Ando had in fact heard every word that she said, but he was temporarily caught up in the way her lips moved to give a prompt answer, causing her to shake her head and laugh. Embarrassed, he looked away and mumbled, "Hiro went back and got Peter. Maybe he changed the future because Peter didn't have a chance to go back to New York. The future that we read about never happened so the article was never written."

"That sounds plausible." She complimented in a soothing tone to let him know she wasn't offended. "I wonder what Peter would think about the future that he missed."

"Sometimes it is better not to know." Ando said with a sincere smile that made her curious. "Hiro once went into the future and saw us having an argument. He told me he watched me use my power against him…to kill him. You don't know how it feels to be held responsible for something you haven't done and something you swear you never will do. Trust me, it better that he doesn't know."

At the front of the bridge, Scotty kept glancing at Chekov's sorry mug until he couldn't stand it anymore. "Ah, buck up lad." He tried his best to console. "The captain's too old for her, it's just a fancy."

"Yeah." Sulu repeated getting up to give him a pat on the back. "Don't give up yet. Once she sees how charming you are, she'll forget all about the captain."

"Really?" His blue eyes sparkled hopefully. "Do you think she vill?"

Sulu looked away and bit his lip before giving him another hard pat. "Probably not, but you can try." Scotty snickered despite his best efforts not to, but at least it brought a smile to Chekov's face.

"Matt!" Noah called as the stream of humanity flowed from the conference room to the lift making sure Sylar got on first. "We need to ask a favor of you."

* * *

Matt looked down at Peter with awe and disbelief. He never thought he would see him in such a condition what with his healing ability and all. He watched him blow up over New York and survive for God sake! Yet there he was, face relaxed and somewhat pale, perfectly still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he took each breath.

As uncomfortable as it was to see him like that, looking at the way Nathan hovered over him was worse. Matt wondered how close Peter was to fulfilling his destiny as a floater in the East River and he wondered about Nathan's capacity to kill his own brother. Nathan was a complete mystery to him, but it wasn't entirely inconceivable that he would do away with Peter if he became too inconvenient. As he watched Nathan, he inadvertently picked up his thoughts. _Please be there, Pete. Don't make me decide this on my own. I just want what's best for you._

Matt quickly looked away and focused on Peter. He listened hard, but all he could get were wisps of fragmented thoughts, incoherent and a tinge frightened. He sighed. "It's all just nonsense."

"Pete?" Nathan called softly. "Pete, can you hear me? If you can, you have to wake up a bit. We have something very important to ask you."

"He heard you!" Matt cried excitedly. "Yeah, Buddy. It's me. I can hear you too." He added apparently answering some unheard query. Matt noted the confused and expectant looks in the room. "He is a little slow and not completely there, but he knows we are here. He is only speaking one word sentences right now." Claire, Nathan, and Mohinder instinctively rushed forward to place their hands on him as though it were a miracle. "Uh…guys." Matt said wincing somewhat. "He doesn't want you to touch him."

"Did he tell you that?" Mohinder asked lifting his hand as though he were touching a hot stove.

"Not in so many words, but he was screaming…he says…uh, contamination." Matt reported.

"Are you afraid you will make us sick if we touch you?" Claire asked with a smile. "You won't. You aren't biohazardous."

"Guys, you might want to hurry, I think we are losing him." Matt warned.

"Pete, listen to me." Nathan said hastily, "You are very sick. We can wait and find a cure that might take a long time or Sylar has…_volunteered _to try to fix you. If he does, Pete, he will take your powers. What do you want us to do?"

Matt squinted and shook his head. "He just keeps saying 'trapped' like he is panicked, he…Sylar? You want Sylar to try?"

Nathan swallowed hard and glared at him from across the room while Sylar stared back with a small smirk.


	22. Chapter 22 Do the Right Thing

**Chapter 22- Do the Right Thing**

Jim swiveled in the command chair preoccupied by what had transpired in sickbay. He felt that as the captain he owed his crew an explanation. The time for secrecy had ended and in all times past the officers of the ship stood by him no matter the danger and he was reasonably sure they would again, but he couldn't take it for granted. They should have the ability to make their own choices circumstances permitting and he couldn't blame them if they opted out of this one.

After all, he had been reasonably sure that Peter would never allow Sylar near him given what was at stake, yet that was the choice he had made. He couldn't really pass judgment on him because he didn't know what it felt like to be trapped in his own body the way Peter seemed to be, but he couldn't imagine he could tolerate it for very long even if he had superpowers. It was easy for him to think that he would rather die than place others in danger, but he simply had no frame of reference for what was going on. All he knew was that Peter was a good guy who was only human after all.

He had asked the evolved humans to vacate the deck so the meeting could be conducted among the members of Starfleet with complete freedom to express their opinions on the matter without fear of offending their guests. As an additional measure, he made Matt swear on his life that he wouldn't eavesdrop and he believed him when he promised he wouldn't. He had also told Noah of his plans as a courtesy from one leader to another- it was the honorable thing to do and Noah appreciated the heads up. He seemed to fully understand the bind this new development had put him in.

While he twisted in his chair, Spock paced behind him at his station. The rest of the crew took this as a bad sign and shot nervous glances at one another. After a tortuous silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Jim cleared his throat and stopped his mindless twirling. "I asked you all to come up here because a serious turn of events has taken place. As you all know by now, we have taken people on board that possess various superhuman abilities. Of these, Sylar and Peter are the most powerful…or evolved…or whatever." He sighed heavily. "What you may not know is that Peter recently gained the ability to time travel from one of his colleagues. He went back to his time to get another evolved human and ended up also causing the arrival of his brother, Nathan- the man responsible for all of this as far as we know. Something happened to him while he was gone and now he is in serious trouble medically and it seems Sylar is the only one who can fix it." He looked at each stoic face of his crewmembers and continued. "I am not going to pretend to know how this all works, but I have been told that Sylar and Peter can collect abilities somehow. Sylar has already stated that in exchange for his help he will take Peter's powers including time travel. I think we all know that this is not a good thing."

"Why would he do that?" Sulu asked aloud. "Why wouldn't he just help him especially because he seems to be the only other super-evolved-human?" He stumbled over his last words because he wasn't sure of the exact terminology, but he couldn't think of anything else to call them.

"Sylar does not act out of mercy or for the good of the species as a whole. The continuation of the next step in evolution does not concern him so long as his own survival is assured." Spock answered as he stopped at full attention. "If he has an opportunity to gain from his fellow man's suffering he will do so. Otherwise he will allow Peter to perish without hesitation. For him, it is the only logical outcome."

"Is he a Wulcan too?" Chekov whispered to Sulu with a smile.

"I assure you he is not one of us, although he does appear to value reason." Spock replied dryly. Chekov wiped the smile off of his face and faced forward, forgetting how sensitive his superior's hearing was.

"So how can we stop him from getting the ability to time travel without sacrificing Peter?" Uhura asked with determination. She may not have always agreed with her captain, but one thing they could mutually value was a win-win scenario.

"We can't." Jim sighed in defeat. "Part of the problem is that Peter is apparently OK with this. If Sylar doesn't get the power now, who's to say he won't later? I allowed them to come onboard because they were in danger of extinction. Now that Nathan is here, I don't know if that is still true or not. What I do know is that I did not grant them indefinite asylum. I realize that Sylar is a threat as it is, but he will be even more so if he gets what he wants. So, I am putting this up for a vote. If you want them to stay because they are an endangered species they will. If you want them to go, I'll tell them to pack their bags."

"Go where?" Scotty asked incredulously. "If Peter and Hiro are the only ones that can go back an' forth and such and neither are well, it is bloody unlikely that you could ask Sylar once he's got it to kindly not let the airlock hit him in the arse on the way out."

"I don't know." Jim laughed. "Back to Earth, Delta Vega, anywhere but on this ship."

Chekov meekly raised his hand to speak. "But Sir, ve took responsibility for them vhen ve let them stay. Ve can't kick them out now vhen they have nowhere to go and are so far away from their own time. So, I vish to wote for them to stay."

"Me too." Sulu nodded. "I know this Sylar guy is a little creepy, but honestly the only time he has attempted to hurt anyone was when he woke up and didn't know where he was. He could have killed us all ten times over by now if he wanted to, but he hasn't."

"Agreed." Spock nodded. "As normal humans, we hold no interest for him. If he were to act, he would prey on his own kind. However, I would advise against releasing them on Earth- a planet that has been without their kind for centuries and lack the understanding required for their survival or defenses against their powers as they apparently had in their own time. To remain on the ship would be the lesser of the two evils as I believe you would say."

"I guess we did make a commitment." Uhura sighed. "But I would feel better if we had some way of protecting ourselves should their intentions turn South. I see no reason not to trust most of them, but from what I have seen so far Sylar and perhaps Nathan should be closely watched."

"To be fair, Uhura, we don't really know if Nathan was responsible for their extinction." Jim reminded. "Even they aren't 100% sure, they said they thought he was and if you ask me if what Claire said was true about what happened when Peter went back, it didn't sound like the actions of a guilty man. The fact that he didn't know what was in the weapons tells me he may not have been as directly involved as they think he was."

"His personal attachment to his younger sibling has been very apparent." Spock observed. "If he had prior knowledge of the operation, he would have divulged it to Drs. McCoy and Suresh to end the physical suffering of his brother. If not then, certainly now that he is so strongly opposed to Sylar's intervention. It is illogical to assume that he is withholding information or was indeed the orchestrator of the mass extinction until further evidence is presented."

"Still, do ya think we could have some of that stuff around just in case?" Scotty inquired. "Ah sure as hell would feel better knowin' we had it to even the playin' field just a wee bit."

Spock looked down at Jim with a stern expression. He was clearly opposed to keeping such a powerful toxin around the ship, but it was the captain's call. If it nearly killed Peter, it certainly would the others and wouldn't that defeat the whole purpose of keeping them aboard? Jim rapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and began twisting as he thought. "Ok," He reluctantly agreed, "but only officers will have access and it will only be used in an extreme emergency where lives are clearly in danger and there are no other alternatives. Do I make myself clear?"

A chorus of "Aye, Sir!" rang through the bridge until Uhura waved for silence. "Sir, I have an incoming transmission from Starfleet."

Jim was a bit wary about receiving an unexpected message from Command, but was at least glad he had vacated all of the specials. He didn't know how he would explain so many strange faces out of uniform on the bridge. "On screen." He ordered sitting up a bit straighter.

The face of Admiral Pike filled the screen and the two reflexively smiled at each other. "Kirk!" Admiral Pike greeted warmly. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have received a distress call from a Klingon ship in the beta quadrant. They reported being attacked by a Romulan vessel. The ship is crippled and needs an escort back to the nearest Klingon starbase. I need you and the crew to forgo nonessential repairs, pull out of space dock and warp yourselves over there. I know you were looking forward to a few more days of leave," his eyes twinkled mischievously, "are your crew so bored they are doing a group project on evolved humans in antiquity? We have noticed a huge pull on the database from your ship."

"Something like that." Jim laughed smoothly. "We will be on our way as soon as we are cleared by the dock."

"Good. We have other ships in the area, but we want to send a message to the Romulans if you know what I mean." Pike smiled.

"I get it, Sir. Send in the big dog." Jim nodded.

"Exactly. But Jim, just make sure you don't get into any unnecessary fights out there." Pike warned. "This is a recovery mission, not a dogfight. The Klingons are not part of the Federation yet and the Romulans sure the hell aren't, but now is not the time for revenge."

"Understood, Sir." Jim saluted even though he couldn't exactly promise he wouldn't get into trouble. He knew better than to make promises he couldn't keep and judging by the smirk on Pike's face he wouldn't have believed him anyway.

He was relieved when the screen went blank and he was off the hook for the moment. "Uhura, contact the dock and inform them of our orders. Sulu, ready the ship and standby for the launch order. Chekov, get on the horn and alert everyone to stations. Spock, you have the com until I get back." He spouted as he made his way to the lift. "I have to tell our guests that they are going on a roadtrip."

* * *

Mohinder stared at the black and white printouts in his lab with a wary eye. It was as though because they displayed Sylar's DNA, they were permeated with evil. As he stared at the dark and light alternating bands of his chromosomes he wondered exactly which one made him a murderer. Deep down he knew the answer to human behavior was never so simplistic as that, it was most often a combination of genetics and environment. Genes, after all, only represented an untapped potential- they were the yardsticks of traits while the environment sometimes determined the exact measurement. Genes were only what could be and environment set the limits on expression. Even knowing this, it was easier and more convenient to think that Sylar had a gene for selfishness and one for a complete lack of empathy that made him what he was rather than it being a volitional choice on his part.

He studied the small, mutated sliver of band on his X chromosome that may have been responsible for his abilities and wondered what it actually did. Was it responsible for his base power or was it something else entirely? He sat upright in his chair wide eyed.

Ever so briefly the thought crossed his mind. There was one sure way to find out what the mutation did. He could isolate it and introduce it into the body of the one person it couldn't harm: Peter. Once Peter woke up, he could observe him for any new abilities or changes in the ones he currently held.

He instantly felt sick for even entertaining such an appalling thought. How could he even think about doing that to Peter? Sure it may have been the breakthrough he was looking for, it could even be the key to this whole extinction problem, but Peter was not a guinea pig- not the way that Sylar could be. The thought was distasteful but honest. Had the circumstances been reversed, he would have been at his microscope at that very moment prepping an injection for Sylar. Although one life should never be more important than another to a scientist, it very much was to Mohinder the man. To him, Sylar was just another bit of lab equipment: necessary but expendable.

He got up to once more look at Peter in sorrow. How desperate he must have been to make such a devil's bargain. He couldn't blame him, would he have the fortitude to choose to remain locked away to the rest of the world just to keep an ability out of Sylar's hands? He didn't want to think badly of Peter because he always had acted in the best interest of others even when it wasn't appreciated or when no one understood or believed him; including himself. But something about this was just uncharacteristic and dare he say…selfish…of Peter to so casually give Sylar the ability to time travel- essentially dooming them all.

As he watched a nurse take his vitals and pull the covers up a bit more to keep him warm, he began to wonder if Matt had heard him right or if Peter may not have been completely coherent at the time he gave his answer because the more he thought about it, the less sense it all made.

* * *

Jim found Noah having lunch with Claire by the windows in the cafeteria. It looked like it might have been a private moment judging by the miserable look on Claire's face while Noah tried to explain something to her. Normally Jim would have walked away to give them time to work it out, but he now had a tight schedule and a ship to run. Courtesy would have to take a backseat to expediency. He cautiously approached the table and flashed a quick smile at the blonde before asking, "Do you have a minute, Noah?"

"Sure." The man with horned rimmed glasses replied placing his napkin on the table. "We will continue this conversation at a later time." He assured his daughter. She didn't seem to be listening as she was too busy getting an eyeful of the ship's supreme commander. Jim again smiled, but quickly regained his composure. It was a habit for him to respond to beautiful women, particularly those that would willingly give him the time of day without being harassed to do so, but if he thought he had 99 problems as it was, tangling with Noah- her father- seemed a particularly ill advised move on his part.

After they had retreated some distance, Jim cut to the chase. "The crew wants you to stay, so you are welcome to do so. But in case you didn't hear Chekov's announcement, we have been called to active duty. As soon as we get the green light we will be out the gate at warp speed across the galaxy. I know being in space is probably enough to freak you out, so I can only imagine what being light years would feel like. I think it is only fair that your group gets to decide if that is something they want out of just as mine did."

"They won't." Noah answered plainly. "They don't have a choice. I understand this is a military vessel and you have a job to do. I will inform my group to stay out of your way while you do it, but if you couldn't tell by now they aren't really fragile so you shouldn't worry too much about us."

"As long as the Romulans don't have any of those darts Peter came back with, I won't." Jim quipped. "But if we get so far away and you want to leave, will that be a problem?"

"I wouldn't think so." Noah shook his head. "If Hiro and Peter can jump millennia in time, I don't think distance would be an issue."

"Ok then." Jim smiled. "Welcome aboard the Enterprise and prepare to meet aliens that aren't as friendly or hygienic as Spock." Noah looked quizzically at the young captain, causing him to laugh and ad, "Trust me. It will be the experience of your life."


	23. Chapter 23 The Pretender

**Chapter 23- The Pretender**

Sylar could tell by the slight shift in his personal center of gravity that the ship was in motion. Just for a moment he felt anxiety about traveling away from the Earth, his home if he ever really had one, to go who knew where. All he knew was that it more or less sealed his fate of being held captive aboard to him what amounted to a floating office building.

Normally this would have been the moment that he would have formulated a plan- the most likely being stealing the shuttlecraft he had levitated in the dock to go back to Earth. Naturally it would have taken some advanced planning and studying because even though he was more or less brilliant, he couldn't just hop in, take a glance around and fire it up. He had never flown anything before although he understood the mechanics of it on some level. That was what he would normally do, but not this time. This time he didn't care that he was being thrown across space at what he could only assume was some incredibly fast speed because he had another exit strategy: teleportation. Soon it wouldn't matter where he was, he could escape in the blink of an eye to any time or place of his choosing thanks to Peter's panicking about his own condition.

He chuckled softly to himself: Peter the great and merciful one. The man who was determined to save the world didn't have the fortitude to accept his fate when it came down to it. Not so much of a hero after all if he was willing to trade the safety of not only the world, but the entire history of mankind for his own miserable and pathetic life. Honestly, Sylar didn't know what he was holding on for. It wasn't like he really had much to live for. His family were a pack of piranhas that had tried to eat him alive time and again, his job of scraping human remains off the streets of New York had to suck, he had no one to go home to at night in his crappy apartment, and even those he thought were his friends would turn in him just as he was doing if they had half a chance. The more the thought about it, the more he realized how much they had in common except for one thing: he didn't give a damn about any of it while Peter very much did. Sylar had no delusions about the greater good of humanity or the basic morality and good intention of others the way Peter did. Although he didn't understand why Peter would persist in his beliefs in the face of repeated evidence to the contrary, for the moment it worked in his favor. If he was hoping that he would have mercy and not take all that was rightfully his out of some moral obligation, he was sadly mistaken.

Sylar made his way to the sickbay to work on his pet project. Already his aptitude was tingling with glee at the prospect of having a real challenge. It wasn't that he really gave a damn about Peter's wellbeing, it just happened to coincide with his interests and as Spock said, sometimes others accidentally benefited from his own agenda. He could live with that so long as he got what he came for; he had been dying to know how Peter's ability worked ever since he met him in Mohinder's apartment, how it seemed so easy for him to acquire powers while it took a little more work on his part. Sylar knew he had a second option for getting them aside from sawing off the top of people's heads, but it was laborious and time consuming although he did enjoy the stage acting it required to make someone believe that he truly cared when in reality he was just waiting for them to give it up so he could kill them. It was a new skill he was crafting and it seemed to work well on Maya- she bought the act hook line and sinker.

When he arrived in sickbay, the medical staff nearly groaned at the sight of him but he ignored it and made his way to Peter's bed at the back of the room. He pulled the privacy curtain and tossed the chair Nathan had occupied toward the head of the bed and sat with an exaggerated heavy sigh while he smirked at his patient. "Peter Petrelli. How long I have waited for this." He breathed giving him a light tap on the head as though he were patronizing a small child. The monitors above beeped slightly faster, prompting him to smile broadly. "This was your choice, there is no backing out now. A deal's a deal, Petrelli."

He was momentarily distracted by the curtain as it jerked backwards revealing the agitated face of Dr. McCoy. "What the hell are you doing?" He demanded checking his patient for any sign of undue harm.

"What he asked me to do." Sylar responded coolly. "I am here to set him straight as he requested, to free him from the hell he is stuck in."

"How congenial of you." McCoy growled. "But as he is my patient, I will be sticking around to make sure you don't kill him."

Sylar chuckled at the doctor's determination. "You mean just like the way to tried to stop me from cutting your throat along with the others? If I wanted to kill him, there would be nothing you could do about it." He taunted. "But, if you feel compelled by the Hippocratic oath to observe, suit yourself."

McCoy so badly wanted to unleash a verbal tirade that could peel paint off a wall, but this was serious business and he forced himself to stick to the task at hand. "Will you be needing any supplies?" He asked all but grinding his teeth.

"I don't think so." Sylar shrugged. "But then again, it is not like I have ever done this before."

"I thought you have!" McCoy spit out. "That was why you are some kind of expert at this!"

Sylar slowly lifted his eyes and sarcastically replied, "I am. I have just never done this with the goal of the person surviving. It is usually quite the opposite for me."

"Sweet Jesus." McCoy hissed. "Why the hell am I going along with this? You are about to cut his head off and do…God knows what and I am just going to stand here and watch. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"I could open you up and take a look when I am finished with Peter if you like." Sylar offered with an evil grin as he raised his hand to make the first cut across Peter's forehead.

McCoy watched in morbid fascination as Sylar somehow managed to make a neat incision through the bone with nothing but a pointed finger. Peter's monitors went wild as his heart rate almost tripled and all of the blood drained from his face as well as from the cut, making small rivers of scarlet that streamed past his temples and into his eyes. McCoy momentarily felt helpless. He couldn't give Peter pain medication because he didn't know if he needed a regular dose or an elephant size as it took to keep Sylar under. At any rate, he knew that there were no nerve endings in the brain, so soon the pain would end. As he watched the monitors closely for any sign of cardiac arrest or systemic failure, he wondered how much of it was just a fear reaction.

When the skull plate had been cut away, Sylar took a seat behind Peter's head and gently raised his hands to tentatively touch the exposed gray matter. There was something viscerally disgusting about it all to McCoy, the battle hardened surgeon who had witnessed far too many horrific injuries in his time to have been bothered by an exposed brain, but he very much was. Sylar carefully and slowly slid the tips of his fingers along the bumps and groves of Peter's parietal lobe, the place where sensory integration takes place and jumped back. "Don't fight, Peter." Sylar warned before placing his hands back where they were.

He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, the way he used to when he listened to a watch that was falling behind by a fraction of a second and then it came to him: the sense that he could feel the broken ladder of Peter's damaged DNA. His aptitude had detected the misaligned base pairs, but the damage was not complete; like a symphony he could hear some of the cells keeping time while others were off by one note. He was no geneticist, he would leave the technical explanations to Mohinder, but all he knew was that he had found the source of Peter's dysfunction and he knew he could repair it as he would gears with broken teeth if he could just coax all of the moving parts into functioning in harmony as a whole. The problem with his aptitude was that it didn't always bother to explain how systems worked, he occasionally had to just take it on faith that he was right and this was one of those times.

He took a deep breath and imagined realigning the mismatched base pairs carefully with microscopic tugs of telekinesis until they once again fit together snugly. He knew he didn't have to fix every wayward cell, the body had a very efficient way of passing along the message as it were. He only had to repair the mainframe and the rest of the hardware would follow. He took his time and with the patience and finesse he used to use as a watchmaker, gently he rearranged and straightened until like tuning a radio the background sound of Peter's personal orchestra went from crackling static to clear, melodic music.

From the outside, McCoy noted the almost trance like state and hazy milky film that glossed Sylar's dark eyes. He couldn't even begin to guess what exactly the madman was doing, but Peter's vitals slowly and surely began to strengthen. McCoy reached out and rubbed his knuckles along Peter's sternum, a painful and noxious stimulus that he didn't respond to previously, but this time he made a slight groaning sound and weakly tried to move away. He then scanned him with a tricorder and compared it to his baseline data he had supplied for testing. While not dead on, he did seem to be moving toward his more functional readings. All of his vital systems were beginning to run at a more efficient pace and he seemed to be coming out his coma.

Once Sylar was satisfied that he had restored enough of Peter's previous functionality to say he held up his end of the bargain, he moved his hands toward Peter's frontal lobes in search of the seat of his ability. In his experience, this is where he was most likely to find the goods as it took volition and forethought to use an ability in order to achieve the desired outcome. He searched with determination, but found nothing. He knitted his thick eyebrows and muttered, "You are different, aren't you? If you don't have to think about using your powers, how do you do it?" He thought about it and smiled gently. "Of course, you are the touchy feely emo type." He reluctantly pushed his fingers deep into the divide between the two hemispheres of his brain in order to get to the deeper structures that regulated emotion. He wasn't expecting what came next.

If anyone would have asked Sylar what happened, he would have described it as a jolt of white hot lightning that traveled up his arms and shot out his eyeballs in a steady stream. McCoy just would have shook his head and pleaded ignorance regarding the whole event, but all he could say for sure was that Sylar nearly fell out of his chair with a look of shock and horror on his face. He also would have added that it was pretty damn funny, but only of Sylar wasn't around to hear him say it.

Sylar was fairly certain he had done it on purpose, although there was a chance that Peter just naturally carried around an emotional a-bomb in his skull in the form of his amygdala. What he was certain of was that he suddenly felt tainted with emotional residue, but also infused with new additions to his arsenal. Satisfied with a job well done, he held Peter's skull plate in position long enough for it to adhere and heal on its own much to the confusion of Dr. McCoy. No matter how many times he witnessed rapid regeneration it would always seem like voodoo to him. Sylar quickly washed the blood from his hands and stuck around long enough for his patient to begin stirring before he bowed out quietly.

It was only a matter of minutes before Peter reached up lazily to wipe the sticky blood from his dull, hazel eyes and they fluttered open to look around the room. "Peter?" McCoy called checking his now nearly normal vitals. When Peter turned his head to squint at him of his own volition, McCoy yelled at a tech. "Go get Nathan and Noah. Tell them Peter is awake!" He returned to his patient and excitedly asked, "How are you feeling?"

A slow smile spread across Peter's face and he cleared his throat, but only managed to whisper, "Like I've had my head cut open." He struggled to pull himself into a semi-reclined position, but kindly turned down all efforts of help from the staff. He was just sore from lying in one spot and a little weak from shock, he knew this from his training and it was important for him to do as much for himself as he could. It was funny how he had no problems always giving to others and caring for them, but he made a very poor patient himself because he wasn't used to being coddled. Well, that was all but Nathan who had the paradoxical habit of slapping him in the face and then hugging him to make the pain go away.

"I can't believe he did it." Peter mumbled running his fingers over his forehead lightly where the now vanished incision had been made. "I didn't think he would be able to fix everything like that, but he did."

"You'll have to send him a thank you card and maybe a nice wine basket." McCoy grumbled as he gave Peter a quick neurologic exam to be sure he was indeed intact. "God knows what he was doing with your brains. He could have really screwed something up in there for all we know."

"But he didn't." Peter protested. "I just know it. He had the perfect chance to rewire everything, but I feel fine."

"Peter!" Nathan shouted as he sprinted toward his brother stopping only to wrap him in a tight embrace that nearly took his breath away. "Thank God you are awake, Pete. I was so worried about you." Nathan held Peter's face in his hands and his large brown eyes softened to a degree that he had never quite seen before. "Pete, were you really awake all that time?" He asked in a low, worried voice.

Nathan's eyes nearly broke Peter's heart because for the first time in a very long time he was looking into the eyes of his big brother the way he used to when they were younger. The last time he saw those eyes was when Nathan had chased off a pack of bullies that had beaten him mercilessly on the playground. The boys were older than he was and he wasn't physically strong enough to defend himself. All he could do was curl into a ball to deflect the kicks and punches that rained down like hail until they suddenly stopped and he peeked out from under his arm to see Nathan standing over him, muscles flexed like some superhero from a comic book. When the boys were gone, Nathan helped him up and asked if he was alright with those same baleful eyes. He felt the same now as he did then: he didn't want to tell him the truth because he knew that there was nothing Nathan ever wanted more than for everything to be ok. Or if things weren't fine that he could somehow fix it. But there were just some things in life that he couldn't fix, some pains that he couldn't touch and just as he did then, Peter simply lowered his eyes in response. Nathan let out a heavy sigh and rested his forehead against Peter's in defeat and whispered, "I'm sorry, Pete. I never wanted this to happen to you."

"I know." Peter replied giving him a pat on the shoulder. He had already forgiven him long before then.

"Welcome back." Noah smiled slyly as he approached. "Did everything go according to plan?"

"I think so." Peter nodded with determination.

Nathan looked from Peter to Noah and asked, "Plan? What plan?"


	24. Chapter 24 The Plan

**Chapter 24- The Plan**

Things were running seamlessly on the bridge and once again, Jim felt in control. This was a good thing in his book because he sure as hell hadn't felt that way at all during the preceding days. All was again right in the universe with Spock barely stirring at his station behind him, Chekov quietly solving mathematical equations the way normal people do crossword puzzles as he usually did when he had nothing better to do, Sulu kept his eyes on the road as it were- especially since the last unplanned game of asteroids had made him paranoid- and Uhura passively eavesdropping on whatever communications drifted by in space.

Jim twisted in a self-satisfied manner in his chair while he smirked. He may not have known anything about evolved humans or superpowers, but he was the captain of the Federation's flagship and one thing he did know about was conducting rescue missions. Things had once again fallen in his favor and for that he was grateful.

"Sir? Uhura called in a soft voice. "Do you think other civilizations know about evolved humans… in a historical perspective?"

Jim whirled around in his chair a bit surprised that she would ask such a thing- mostly because he didn't think she was all that interested in them. But then again, he had been fooled by her cool demeanor before. "I don't know." He admitted with a shrug. "If even we didn't think they were real, I doubt other cultures would take it seriously either. If they do know, they probably think it is part of our superstitions."

Chekov had stopped doing his puzzles because he was intrigued by the conversation. "Is that correct, Mr. Spock?" He asked wide eyed. "Did you know about them on Wulcan?"

Spock gave a microscopic wince at the name of his home world being butchered yet again. He understood that it was due to a difference in the phonetic systems of Russian and English, but English was not native to Vulcan. The endemic language of the planet was so complex, he had settled on being called Spock just to make things easier for humans who could not possibly pronounce his name correctly. Perhaps he was being too harsh on the young man, but if he could train himself to speak flawless English, surely Chekov could make a more concerted effort to produce a "V" sound. It was, after all, a simple matter of oral mechanics. "We did." He replied curtly. "And we found your lack of acceptance of extrasensory abilities to be illogical."

"Easy for you to say!" Jim cried. "This from a race of people that can mind meld."

"Yeah!" Sulu added slowly turning in his seat. "Of course it makes sense to you since your people have extraordinary abilities! Humans don't, and if they say they do they are either liars or just plain crazy."

"Until now." Uhura laughed. "They can't all be crazy."

"I assure you, they are not." Spock commented. "Dr. McCoy and I have run scientifically rigorous tests on their physiology and in every case the ability they professed to possess has been demonstrated not to be a matter of optical illusion or simple trickery."

"How is Peter?" Uhura asked with enough urgency in her voice to make everyone look at her in surprise. "Well, I mean, is he alright?" She tried with a more cool tone. "Without him, we are defenseless against Sylar."

Jim glanced at Spock and raised his eyebrows at the curious expression on the Vulcan's face. Not many people knew about the relationship between the Commander and his subordinate and Jim didn't feel it was his place to let that cat out of the bag. "Bones called me a bit ago and said he is awake." He hurriedly said before anyone else caught on. "I guess that whatever Sylar did woke him up. He is doing better and wants out of sickbay."

"Good." Uhura proclaimed keeping her head high as though it didn't matter to her one way or the other. "I am sure Nathan will be pleased."

"Yeah." Jim replied slowly. The situation had become strange and he wasn't really sure what to do about it. At least Spock was able to pull himself back together in the interim.

"And Claire." Chekov added timidly. "She vas wery vorried, but I told her he vould be fine."

Jim turned in his chair at a snail's pace to smile broadly at his navigator. He couldn't keep the glee out of his voice as he chided, "Have a crush on her, do we?" Chekov's face turned beet red and Sulu began to laugh uncontrollably.

"I do not understand the cause of your embarrassment." Spock said in a flat tone. "You are both of a similar chronological age, you are a male and she a female of the same species in good health. As long as she possesses traits that you find suitable, there is no cause for your reaction. The desire to mate is strong for young male humans."

Sulu was gasping for breath as Jim shook his head. "That's one hell of a pickup line, Spock." He chuckled. "I bet you are a big hit with the ladies. 'Hey baby, I am having a real strong desire to mate and you seem suitable.' I have tried that one before and all it ever got me was a slap in the face."

"You have tried that?" Chekov asked appalled. He may not have been an expert at the game, but even he could estimate the probability of success at somewhere in the negative range.

"Only when it was last call." Jim smiled. Thankfully, the beta shift arrived to spare them all from yet another twisted tale of his misspent youth. Uhura's replacement was sick, so she volunteered to stay until someone else could be found. Secretly, she was glad because it delayed having to explain herself to Spock.

* * *

Even though he knew it was illogical, Sylar nearly scrubbed himself bloody in the scalding hot shower trying to rid himself of the oily, heavy residue that he imagined clinging to his skin. He had never felt anything like it before when he had taken powers from others, and he only noticed it after he had absorbed Peter's and the…whatever it was…happened. Even though he knew it was all in his head, he scoured his body like a person who was convinced that they had bugs under their skin, but it was all to no avail. He still felt dirty and infected.

He got out and paced the floor at the foot of his bed to try to figure it out from a rational perspective. The employment of cold logic had a calming effect on him and he took solace in his base power- the only one he could truly call his own. His aptitude began to quickly make associations and draw lines connecting action and consequence until he arrived at the sickening conclusion that along with the transfer of powers came an infusion of his emotional nature. If Peter had to feel to use his abilities, it only stood to reason that the emotions he had attached to each one as a means of indexing for later retrieval would also transfer.

That was why he felt so tainted: whether by conscious decision or gradual extinction, Sylar did not make a habit of feeling anything. He simply couldn't allow himself to be influenced by emotion in his line of work. If he did, the cries and pleas of his victims would seep through and muck up his agenda. He would never get anything done. But once upon a time he did feel guilt and sorrow; he had to turn his back on that life and he could again with time. What mattered was that he got what he had wanted for so long, even if it did come with some initial side effects.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He slowly smiled when he felt his feet leave the floor and he knew he wasn't using his telekinetic ability to levitate as he had before. This felt different, liberating almost. He could fly. He landed gently and noted that he felt something approaching joy- or rather that was the emotion that Peter had attached to it. A curious theory had formed in Sylar's mind and he had to test it. He stretched out his hand to use his telekinesis and laughed when he was filled with a sense of terror. He now knew that Peter was convinced he would die at Union Wells High School when they fell over the wall. What pleased him even more was the fact that Peter had to relive that night and feel the fear every time he used the power that he had stolen from him.

He searched through his mind for more gems of new powers and accidentally tripped something he didn't mean to. Suddenly, the room went dark and he for all intents and purposes was in a deep trance. Nightmarish flashes drifted in his mind, things that didn't make sense in vivid snapshots of what he knew was the future. He remembered a time when he was able to see the future, when he woke up to see a picture of New York exploding painted in his mother's blood on the floor of her apartment. When he regained consciousness, he felt weak and exhausted. He blinked slowly and looked down at his hands that were covered in many colors of paint that he had presumably made from the replicator.

On the wall of his room was a painting of Peter laying in a pool of blood, his limbs twisted into unnatural positions. Spock had also been slain along with others that wore the same uniform. A strange person looked down on them all, but the back was turned to the viewer so Sylar couldn't tell who it was. But what disturbed him most was that he was holding Peter's broken body with one hand while the other was outstretched in a pleading manner to the strange man. Both men were also wearing colored uniforms. The look of fear and anger on his face was evident and he had the sinking feeling that he wasn't using his telekinetic ability in the picture.

He slowly backed away from the picture trying to make sense of it. All he knew was that he did not want to be a part of a future where he felt anything like the picture depicted toward his sworn enemy and his powers were apparently gone. He certainly wasn't going to join the members of the ship in their merry little club of blind obedience. In his mind, there was only one solution: it was time to escape. It was time to run backwards, far away from the future he was looking at. He again closed his eyes and thought about the life he was taken from in New York, but nothing happened. He tried again, but no particular feeling came over him that Peter would have used to make it work. His dark eyes flashed with anger: he had been tricked.

* * *

Down in sickbay, Peter had to be forcibly restrained to keep him from walking out. "Pete," Nathan pleaded keeping his hands on his brother's shoulders, "just stay for a little while longer. The doctor just wants to make sure you're ok, that's all."

"I know." He sighed. "But I feel fine, really." Nathan squinted at him the way disbelieving mothers do and he immediately broke. "Ok, so I am not 100%, but you don't understand. As soon as Sylar figures out that I screwed him, he will come after me and I don't want to put anyone in danger."

"Screwed him?" McCoy asked perplexed. "How?"

Peter glanced at Noah and shook his head. "There was no way I was going to let him have the ability to time travel, but I needed his help. After you guys all left, Noah and Matt came back and we had a discussion."

"Regarding?" Nathan prompted a little agitated.

"The long and short of it is I asked Matt to tell you I wasn't really coherent to make Sylar think I was nearly dead. I…" He looked away as though he was ashamed but continued, "I let him do his thing and then when he took my powers, I sort of pushed what I wanted him to have all at once and hid time travel in a place I knew he wouldn't look."

"What does that mean?" Mohinder asked approaching from his lab. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he was too excited and relieved to allow etiquette to get in the way. "Where did you…move…it to?"

"I didn't move anything." Peter mumbled miserably. "I flat out stole Hiro's power and I felt bad about that. I buried it under so many layers of guilt and shame I knew he wouldn't touch it even if he had detected it. Anyway, because I pushed new abilities at him so fast, he probably couldn't tell exactly what he had, but he soon will."

"Well done, Peter." Noah commended. "You prevented him from getting the one power that would do us all in. But you are right that he will be a little ticked when he finds out. Are you well enough to protect yourself?"

"Honestly?" He asked with a small laugh. "Not really. But I think I could teleport away if I had to."

"You think?" Nathan asked sarcastically. "Not good enough, Pete. I almost lost you once, I can't do that again. I will stay with you."

"With all due respect," Mohinder spoke up, "you are really no match for Sylar, particularly if he is angry. None of us could stop him, not even if we all worked together."

"It probably isn't my place to tell you this," McCoy grumbled, "but Jim ordered me to replicate the toxin that nearly killed Peter just in case this kind of thing happened. Now, I am not in favor of harming anyone, but if it is the only way to stop a massacre, I can probably get a vial for you." He hated saying the words out loud, but at the end of the day he was a pragmatic man and he could see his way clear if harming one meant saving more.

"Then I suggest we take turns." Noah sighed. "We can all keep the toxin handy and guard Peter until he is well enough to defend himself. It is the least we can do considering what he has done for us."

"Aye, Sir." Nathan said with a natural bravado that struck McCoy as oddly familiar. "I'll take the first watch."

"Guys, really…" Peter began to modestly protest.

"Pete, it's what has to be done. For just once would you let someone else help you?" Nathan smirked. Of course he meant someone other than himself…

"He's right." Mohinder chimed in. "I'll take the second shift. Peter, after all that you have done for me as a friend, please allow me to do this one small thing in return."

"I got third, then." Noah smiled. "I'll let the others know so they can sign up for tomorrow. Sorry, Peter, it looks like you have been outvoted."

* * *

Matt, Ando, and Hiro waited on a lift to meet Sulu and Chekov for dinner in the cafeteria as the initial invitation had become a long standing one. Matt had actually come to like the Russian kid even though he was difficult to understand at times and he looked forward to hopefully getting some news about what was going on.

"I wonder if there are other space people." Hiro commented with a smile. "You know, like in Star Wars cantina."

"If there is a Jabba the Hut, I am fine not knowing." Matt laughed. "Now, Princess Leah…."

"Me too." Ando eagerly agreed. "I would like to meet any beautiful women that may be out there."

"What if she is blue and has tentacles?" Matt asked with a smile.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." He replied grandly.

"Yeah, guess so." Matt mumbled while he scratched his head. He had a point, it could be an interesting experience. He had to be more open minded about these things.

The elevator opened and Sylar stepped out looking madder than a wet cat and all took an involuntary step backwards. If looks could kill, they would all be smoldering corpses.

He fixed his soulless eyes on Matt and asked, "How did he do it? You talked with him, did he tell you he was going to cheat me out of what was mine?! You said he was incoherent!"

Matt smirked and shook his head. "That's what you thought I said."

"What?" Sylar asked perplexed.

"C'mon, you're the genius here." Matt taunted. "If I would have said that, you would have known I was lying, right? That thing in your head would have went off. I didn't say anything, but I used my ability to make you think I did."

"But, everyone else…" He weakly protested. He just couldn't believe he could possibly be duped twice- once by Matt Parkman of all people!

"Yeah, I couldn't take a chance on you finding out some other way." Matt said getting on the lift. As the doors closed, he shrugged. "Bet you weren't expecting that from a dumb cop."

Sylar blinked slowly at the lift doors long after they had closed.


	25. Chapter 25 One of Us, One of Them

**Chapter 25- One of Us, One of Them**

Once word spread that Peter was something like his old self, the mood lightened considerably onboard. It was replaced, however, with a sense of grim determination when Jim let slip that he was currently in need of guardianship because he wasn't completely able to look after himself and Sylar had an axe the size of the Alpha Quadrant to grind with him. But he had a solution: after speaking with Noah he learned of an apparently effective mode of business that he employed in his super secret company that was accustomed to dealing with situations just as this. 'One of us, one of them' he called it and Jim was walking the ship taking volunteers.

The first person he ran into just so happened to be a recently replaced Uhura and he almost couldn't believe the irony. "Uhura," he called with a sly smile, "I have a special assignment that may just be to your liking."

Uhura turned and her long hair swished across her body like a whip. "If you are still curious about my lingual talents, you can forget it." She coldly smiled. "I'm not interested."

Jim looked wounded. That night in the bar felt like several lifetimes ago and he couldn't believe that she would still hold his drunken slurred comment against him. Besides, he had enough respect for Spock, and quite possibly a bit of fear, to not hit on his woman. Had it been Bones, however…. "No, no." he protested with a disgusted look on his face. He had the moral upper ohand here and he was going to make the most of it. "Look, that is over. And if you are still secretly carrying a torch for me, I have to tell you it won't happen. You know…protocol and…stuff." He waved his hand dismissively. "But, this little project just might add fuel to another fire you have going. I smelled smoke on the bridge earlier today." He gave a wicked grin as his eyes sparkled mischievously.

Uhura looked around quickly and strode up to him to give him a hard glare. "What are you talking about?!" She growled.

Jim almost salivated at his ability to get such a reaction from her. It was a rare treat and he planned on savoring every moment. "C'mon! Everybody on the bridge saw it." He laughed. "Even Spock. Tough competition for him, I have to say. Mind melding is cool and all, but Peter is like a Swiss Army knife of awesome tricks. Who could resist a shiny, new toy? Well, how would you like a chance to get up close and personal with your crush?"

"You are sick." She hissed.

"But right." Jim smiled knowingly. "Noah thinks it would be a good idea if we could help watch him along with another evolved human to protect him from Sylar." Uhura looked at him questioningly and he added, "Long story. Anyway, all you have to do is hang out in his room with some of the toxin Bones replicated in the event you need to stab Sylar with it."

She straightened and folded her arms. "And who would I be working with?"

Jim's smile faltered a bit. "I believe Nathan has volunteered to go first." He admitted. It was no secret Uhura didn't entirely trust the elder Petrelli, but Jim thought perhaps if she watched him and had a chance to talk to him, she might give him the benefit of the doubt that he deserved.

"Aye, Captain." She said with a sense of resigned fate. "I will report to his quarters as soon as possible."

* * *

Peter leaned against the wall of the shower in his quarters and let the hot water run down the back of his neck and over his shoulders. He had never been so miserable in his life- or at least recently. He knew deep down that tricking Sylar was wrong: it was dishonest and by doing so he was setting off a time bomb. There was no question that what he did was unavoidable, it was absolutely necessary to prevent him from getting time travel at all cost. With that last piece of the puzzle, Sylar would truly be unstoppable- free to peruse the pages of history as though it were an IKEA catalog from which he could order whatever ability he desired. Lives would be ruined, history permanently altered and he wouldn't give a damn about who he hurt or the consequences of his actions. Peter felt as though he were damned either way.

He hated lying to people. Maybe Nathan and Noah were comfortable with willful misinformation, but he preferred to be honest with people. It was the only way he could live with himself and be comfortable in his own skin. He felt that others had the basic right to have all the facts, but what made him feel particularly bad was that Sylar had a track record a mile long of people who had lied to him. While he may not have chosen the same path, Peter felt he owed him better; he didn't want to be just another statistic. He had worked incredibly hard to gain a small measure of credibility with him and he had just thrown that all away.

But what really stung was the knowledge that for once in his life, Sylar had actually faithfully fulfilled his end of the deal without resorting to any kind of trickery. It was almost as if Peter could feel his trepidation in being so careful not to cause any more damage while he was working when he had the perfect opportunity to forever alter him. If only just for a moment, he saw the man that he knew Sylar could be; the watchmaker had resurfaced briefly and it was Peter who had reneged. It was a shabby way to treat the man who for all intents and purposes had healed him and given him back his life. Even as the water slid over his body he was left feeling filthier than ever and no amount of scrubbing could cleanse his soul.

* * *

Outside, Uhura sat tensely in the extra chair that had been provided staring across the bed icily at Nathan who was fidgeting with the hypo he had been provided with. This had been going on ever since her arrival and shortly after Peter had disappeared for his marathon shower. Nathan had never known Peter to take so long and he debated barging in and dragging him out dripping wet just to take a break from the ice queen. He had no idea what her boggle was, but he was married long enough to know 'the look' when he saw it- the one that meant you were sleeping on the couch or perhaps you may even come home to find all of your worldly possessions in a flaming heap on the front lawn. He cringed when he got that look from his wife, but to get it from a woman he didn't even know was just plain disturbing.

"So…" She said slowly, "you are Peter's brother."

Nathan smiled quickly to mask his discomfort. If he was good at anything, he could small talk with the best of them and he summoned up his politician skills to smooth things over. "Yeah, that's right." He confirmed. "So, you work on the ship?"

"I do." She nodded curtly. "Not used to women being in command?"

He laughed easily and shook his head. "Whoa, whoa. Who said anything about that? If you must know, I have worked for many fine women commanders in the Navy and many of my colleagues in the Senate are women. They fight just as hard for their districts as the men do."

"You were in the Navy?" She asked hesitantly sitting up straighter. She never imagined him serving his country in the very organization that Starfleet was modeled on. His general smarminess seemed incompatible with the rigorous moral standards of a soldier.

"I did." He smiled grandly. It was one of the few things he had done in his life that he could actually be proud of. "I was a pilot and flew missions during the Bosnian war."

"You were a pilot of an airplane? Sulu would love to know that. He would talk your ear off about it." She chuckled. "So then you took a job making laws in the government?"

"I tried." He demurred. "But it is a lot harder than it sounds, it is really more like herding cats. That was what I wanted to do, but it seems I spent more of my time brokering closed door deals than on the floor casting votes. That was how the system worked. You want a bill passed and need my vote? You will have to sign on to my proposal or sponsor my amendment. The longer I spent there the more I realized that it was all just a big game. No one gave a damn about the good of the people, it was all about 'what have you done for me lately?'"

The more he talked, the more Uhura became genuinely interested in his life. She had no idea that he cared about anyone but himself, but it seemed like he really did want to do good by others. "So then, did you have something to do with the extinction?" She asked quietly.

"Excuse me?" He asked cocking his head with a polite smile. "Extinction of what?"

"Who is more like it." She replied tersely. She had almost fallen for his charm, but now he was going to play dumb? "Your own kind. Did you have something to do with their disappearance? Because I can tell you that before Hiro and the others came a few days ago, there were no evolved humans. You were all a legend, some superstitious myth. Did you do it? Were you the one responsible?" She persisted.

He was momentarily stunned by her directness, but he thought about it and honestly said, "I don't know. Probably." He held her gaze without flinching because for once in his life he chose to give a straight answer and he was sticking to it.

She let out a sharp sigh and shook her head in disbelief. "Probably? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I left that future and I don't know what I would have done if I stayed." He answered calmly. "Officially my name was on the orders, but I didn't give them. I deliberately kept out of the loop so I could protect Peter and Claire for as long as I could. I couldn't stop them." His eyes were almost pleading for her to believe him. "There was nothing I could do to prevent the program from going forward. You don't understand what I had to do to save my own family. I was ready to die back there to save Pete from being captured because I knew that they would kill him and it was only a matter of time before they found out that I was one of them too. Was I responsible? Maybe, but it was nothing I ever wanted."

"And so the future has changed because you left?" She asked hopefully. "Just like it did when…" She immediately stopped in her tracks when she realized her slip, but Nathan was all over it like a shark that smelled blood in the water.

He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. "Just like what?"

* * *

The door to Jim's quarters beeped and he gave a lazy yell for the person to enter. He was a bit surprised to see Spock, but by his extremely rigid stance he knew he wasn't dropping by for a game of poker or a shot of Romulan Ale. Either this was all business or he was really agitated about something and was trying his best to overcompensate with protocol. He was no psychoanalyst, but he didn't need to be Freud to see through the Vulcan's defense mechanisms. "What's on your mind, Spock?" He asked casually.

"I have been informed that a new post has been approved to protect Peter from Sylar until such a time when he is able to fully use is powers for defense." He spouted standing so straight it made Jim's spine hurt just to look at him. "I have not been asked to fill this duty, so I am requesting I be assigned to my rotation unless there is cause for my removal from the service."

Jim paused for a moment so his lagging brain could decipher the code of irritated Vulcan speak before coyly asking, "If I assign you, will you nerve pinch him?"

Spock appeared genuinely startled and quietly inquired, "Why would I use such aggression when it is unwarranted?"

"Is it?" Jim smiled. "Spock, it's ok to admit that Uhura pissed you off a little today. Just say it; you are a little jealous of Peter because he momentarily caught her eye. It's normal and dare I say necessary. Otherwise she may think that you don't care."

"It would be illogical for me to hold Peter responsible for her actions or wishes." He retorted. "As far as I know, he has done nothing to encourage or reciprocate her feelings. If she indeed has romantic inclinations for him and no longer wishes to court, I will of course respect her decision."

"And that's it?!" Jim cried with a wide smile. "No, no, no. This is one of those times when you have to let the human side of yourself drive for awhile. If she is worth keeping, she is worth fighting for."

Spock gave his captain a perplexed look. "Do you suggest I engage in a physical altercation with Peter? No matter the strength of my convictions, Captain, logic would dictate that he be the clear victor due to his numerous abilities that I would be wildly unsuccessful in counteracting."

"Not literally." Jim sighed. "Show her that you do give a damn if she looks at other men. Surprise her. Giver her flowers or candy or write a poem, anything you can to show her that you are still very much in the game."

"I appreciate your advice on this matter." He nodded solemnly. "Although I was not aware that this was a game in which I am compelled to participate in."

"Well, you do." Jim said emphatically. "Ask Bones how the game ends when you stop playing. It is never over, Spock. _Never_. You don't win until you die, those are the rules."

"Fascinating."

* * *

Nathan sat heavy in his chair like he had been struck by lightning. Uhura had just told him of the future she had read about and he tried hard to wipe the image of Peter's bruised body floating face down in the river out of his mind. He never would have done such a thing…_never_. He would have given his own life rather than harm his brother, but what could have happened to him? For him to show signs of torture would mean that his healing ability wasn't working just as it hadn't in sickbay and he knew that a gunshot wound to the head would have killed him even if it was working. It could have only meant that the government knew his secret and killed Peter in an effort to keep him quiet and then blamed it on him to get rid of him. And had he not left, it probably would have worked.

Peter casually strolled out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. "You know, Nathan, this isn't really necessary. I…oh! Hello." He said sheepishly as he noticed Uhura for the first time. "Sorry, I…um." He stammered looking around for his clothes.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have…I will wait outside until you are decent." She nodded with determination as she hurried to the door.

"Way to go, Pete. You scared her off. Quite an accomplishment, believe me I know." Nathan smirked at his embarrassed brother.

"Shut up." He responded giving him a sour look. "Why didn't you tell me she was here?"

"I was busy getting my ass chewed." He sighed. "I guess Noah thought the one of us, one of them thing was such a great idea we should all do it again. She is going to be the 'one of them' for the time being."

"This is insane." Peter groused. "Really, I'm not made of glass and I don't really know her."

"I don't think you want to." He groaned. "But no need in arguing with her. You won't win."

"Whatever. Just do me a favor and don't stare at me while I am sleeping. That is seriously creepy." He sighed falling into bed.

Nathan gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I won't stare if you don't snore."


	26. Chapter 26 Whispers

**Chapter 26- Whispers**

Peter grew accustomed to people coming in and out of his room as though he were sleeping in a public area like the bridge or a hallway. Thanks to his job, he sometimes slept at the hospital in a spare room if he was on call and it was much the same. Nathan and Uhura didn't so much as make a peep as far as he knew, he never heard them talking when he woke up and he just assumed they had stepped outside. But other times, he did hear different voices over the next several hours.

Scotty: "So, you're a doctor too?"

Mohinder: "That I am- a geneticist. And what is it you do here?"

Scotty: "Ah, not much. Just work miracles meself when we get into a bit of a scrape. Do ya' think that's a special ability? Cause it seems to be directly proportionate to the size of the Captain's mouth to get us into such a jam."

Mohinder: "I am not certain, my friend. But let's hope your powers don't fail us should we need them."

Scotty: "Oh, stick around a wee bit more and you'll see what I mean."

Noah: "They let you drink while you're on duty? I could get used to a place like this."

McCoy: "I'm not on duty and it makes me a better poker player. Care for a hand and a shot of the galaxy's finest replicated whiskey?"

Noah: "Assuming the rules haven't changed much, I could play a game or two and I'd like mine straight up on the rocks, please."

McCoy: "A man after my own heart. So, what do you think the chances are of the Big Bad Wolf showing up?"

Noah: "Knowing him, he won't lash out right away- he isn't impulsive like that. My guess is he will wait perhaps days while he plans something. Eager to meet him again?"

McCoy: "Hell, I'd be lying if I said he didn't creep me out a little, but I have faced down cases of Andorian shingles bad enough to make the head explode with slimy green pus and once you look that in the face not much bothers you after that."

Noah: "…I would guess not."

Claire: "So…you're Russian?"

Chekov: "Da."

Claire: "…That's…cool. I haven't met any Russians before."

Chekov: "I have not met evolved humans from the past before."

Claire: "Well! Then I guess there is a first time for everything."

Chekov: "Da."

Claire: "Does that mean yes?"

Chekov: "Da."

Claire: "Ok then…"

Sulu: "…so then she turns to me and says 'What do you mean Vulcans have to be in the mood?' It was the funniest thing ever!"

Matt: "Um….ok."

Sulu: "Oh, wait. I forgot that you totally don't get the references. Vulcans are like humans but not really. Spock is a Vulcan."

Matt: "So what do women Vulcans look like? Do they really…I mean can…is it possible for them to…"

Sulu: "Imagine Spock in a dress and that is what a Vulcan woman looks like. And yes, it is possible for humans to breed with other humanoid species. In fact, Spock is a hybrid. But the thing with Vulcans- and the reason the joke is funny- is that Vulcans are only 'in the mood' once every 7 years."

Matt: "Sounds like my wife."

Hiro: "Mr. Kirk…"

Jim: "It's Jim. Remember?"

Hiro: "Sorry. Mr. Jim, are there other space people?"

Jim: "Space people? You mean like aliens?"

Hiro: "Yes. Like Star Wars in a galaxy far, far away."

Jim: "Star Wars. I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Yes, there are other space people that live far away. That is where we are going."

Hiro: "Really? We will fight them? Zhuu! Zhuu!"

Jim: "What the hell was that supposed to be, a light saber? I hope we won't have to fight them."

Hiro: "I will help you."

Jim: "Good to know. Now you might want to lay off the replicated espresso before I lock you in a room with Jar Jar until you commit hari-kari just to make the suffering end."

Ando: "So I have noticed that there are many women on the ship. I got the chance to work with Lieutenant Uhura and she was very nice."

Spock: "Indeed there are many females that work on the ship. Lieutenant Uhura is certainly proficient in her duties."

Ando: "I was thinking of asking her to dinner one night. Do you think she would be offended?"

Spock: "I do not see why she would be offended by your request to share a meal, however, it would be inadvisable."

Ando: "Why?"

Spock: "I am not certain of all of the rules, but I am obliged to warn you that I am a participant in the game. I must clarify with the Captain, but it is reasonable to assume that men who look at her are to be dealt with in the same manner as the men she looks at. I apologize for not being more proficient in this custom, but I have only recently learned of its existence."

Ando: "Ok…you win."

Spock: "Interesting. I was of the understanding that I must die before a winner can be proclaimed. I believe that Peter is also a participant in this game, which logically would make him my opponent."

Peter rolled over and blinked at the pointed eared man in confusion. "Wha?" He asked half laughing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

* * *

Sylar sat on his bed, staring blankly at the painting his own hands had made on the wall without his knowledge or ultimately his understanding. He knew that without teleportation this was now a future he would have to face and a feeling of dread stirred in the pit of his stomach. What did it all mean? Why were he and Peter wearing the crew's uniforms? What had happened to all of the people in the picture who were dead? Why didn't his powers work? Looking at the state of Peter's maimed body, it was clear his wasn't either. Who was the man that was towering over him as he held Peter close? But the most important question in his mind was why did it look like he gave a damn about Peter in the first place?

After what Peter had done to trick him, he deserved what was pictured and more. He never imagined Petrelli had the stones to deceive him like he did. A small part of him applauded the man for being able to pull it off in the first place: it was a rare thing indeed to slip past his many defenses and that was no accident. But the larger part of him was almost hurt that he would take advantage of him the one time he tried to be honest. He thought he could trust Peter, the one who was a terrible liar and always took the moral high ground about honesty and integrity. But he should have known- hypocrisy ran deep in that family's blood and Peter was not immune to seizing a golden opportunity when it was to his benefit. It was simply who he was no matter how hard he tried to fight it. They weren't so different after all.

* * *

In the darkness of space, a Klingon vessel floated helplessly adrift after suffering almost total system failure. The Klingons were by very definition not a fearful people, but they were aware that the Romulans may be lurking somewhere nearby and they knew how merciless they could be when seeking revenge. It would of course be an honor to die in battle and if it had to happen, the Romulans were a most worthy opponent since they felt much the same way about war.

The Captain of the ship, a man called Koth, was a well seasoned veteran of such face-offs and under normal circumstances would have been happy to add another notch to his double bladed bat'leth that had brought him many victories, but his orders from the High Council were clear: contact the Federation and request an escort- defend the ship only if attacked. This was against the standing protocol, but he had a very special bit of cargo on board that must get back to Qo'noS at all cost without the Federation finding out.

Because neither the Klingons nor the Romulans were part of the Federation, they preferred to handle things amongst themselves in a manner best suited to their respective warrior codes. The Federation, if invited, would slow things down with days of diplomacy and much talking. For years now there had been skirmishes and attacks from both sides that left a trail of devastation and caused a long running feud between the two Empires that was costly both in terms of time as well as collateral damage. The Klingon High Council was eager to find a way to quickly and decisively end the wars, particularly when it was rumored that the Romulans were developing a new weapon that could wipe out a Bird of Prey with one shot.

Unbeknownst to the Federation, and up until now even the Romulans, Koth and his crew had infiltrated Romulan airspace and gathered intelligence by eavesdropping on communications and scanning vessels when they could to gain insight on the inner workings of the defense systems. It was a long and dangerous process- at any time they could be discovered and taken prisoner, which was a fate far worse than death. To be captured and made a slave was dishonorable and there was no way the Romulans would allow them to commit ritualized suicide just to further humiliate them. When Romulans were captured in battle, they were immediately dispatched since the Klingons had no use for prisoners, but Koth had taken his first captive ever.

He turned from the screen that showed nothing but the vastness of space and slowly made his way to the bowels of the ship where it was dark, wet, and hot since it was so close to the engine rooms. Since Klingons did not take prisoners as a rule, ships were not outfitted with a brig for holding them so a special unit had to be constructed. It was a steel box really, with a small hole cut into the front to observe and pass food and the door was welded shut so there would be no chance of escape. The slat in the front of the box let in just enough light to pierce the darkness.

Koth glared inside at the bald head and a pointed ear. He kicked the door and it made a resounding ringing noise loud enough to make the engineers jump over the roar of the machinery. The prisoner slowly lifted his head and the light caught his dark eyes and facial tattoos typical of his kind. He hadn't baked to death yet in his steel oven, which was a good thing since his orders were to bring him back alive. The High Council would be most pleased at his catch. It was only a matter of time before the head of the Romulan Senate noticed that his only precious, scientist son was missing. No doubt they would send a virtual armada in search of him, but he was far more important to the Klingons. He was going to tell them the designs of the new weapon no matter what it took to get him to confess. And as long as he could keep his captive's presence a secret, the Federation would provide safe passage all the way back to the home world and defend them against all attacks.

* * *

"Captain," Chekov called from his station eagerly, "Ve vill be approaching the Klingon wessel in approximately 4 minutes time, Sir."

"Great." He sighed. He was tired from staying up to watch Peter, but it was his duty as the Captain to ensure the welfare of his guests. It was also his duty to make sure the mission was completed as close to protocol as he could manage which meant he needed his second in command. "Page Mr. Spock and ask him to return to the bridge and then page Bones to replace him. Sulu, slow to half impulse on approach but keep the engine running in case we have some unexpected visitors. Uhura, open a channel when we get in range. I'd like to get this over as soon as possible." A round of agreement came from the crew as each followed their respective orders.

In the meantime, Jim chewed his lip while he stared at the screen waiting to see the image of the Klingon Captain. He had an uneasy feeling about this whole venture, but he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because deep down he had a serious problem with Romulans after what they tried to do to Earth…what they _did_ do to Vulcan. But more than that, it was that nagging feeling he had and in his experience that feeling was usually right. Unlike Spock, he had no problem acting on intuition and flying by the seat of his pants and he was determined to keep his options open until he was proven wrong.

"Incoming hail, Sir." Uhura announced. "I'm putting it onscreen."

The image of a battle scared Klingon came into view and Jim tried his best not to jump. It wasn't often that he had contact with them and they looked so fierce it put him on guard every time. "I am Koth, Captain of the ship and representative of the Klingon Empire." He growled. "We are grateful to the Federation for answering our distress call."

Something about the whole thing seemed off to Jim. He had never known Klingons to be so cordial- or ask for help for that matter. He nodded with a stern expression and replied, "Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise. We are here to assist you in any way we can." God he hoped his gut was wrong.


	27. Chapter 27 Clues

**Chapter 27- Clues**

After Koth had vanished from the screen, Jim twisted in his chair rapping his fingers lightly as the wheels in his head whirred at a frantic pace. He was almost relieved to see Spock arrive in his usual stern but efficient manner to stand at his station with only the slightest nod to his superior. If anyone could figure out exactly what the hell was going on, it would be him. He was adept at observation back at the bar when he encountered Hiro- a being he had no knowledge of- so Jim hoped he would be able to shed some light on the strange behavior of a species he was more familiar with. "Uhura, can you send that last transmission to the conference room?"

She turned her head slightly and set to work, her slender fingers gliding effortlessly over her controls. "It is waiting for you, Sir." She reported.

"Great. Spock, care to join me?" He sighed giving his second in command a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

Spock predictably stiffened at the casual contact, a custom he had yet to become accustomed to which is partially why Jim did it. He was providing a service as he saw it- helping him integrate and all. Still, Spock pulled himself together and marched behind him with such determination it would have made Jim nervous if he hadn't known him so well. His purposeful gait mixed with the usual masked face and dark eyes reminded him enough of Sylar that he worried he would have the back of his skull sliced open. He still hadn't entirely forgotten being thrown across the sickbay by a blast of energy from the man's hands and he made a mental note then and there to never let the killer sneak up on him. It was just unfortunate that Spock resembled him so much- he just couldn't look at him quite the same way again.

Spock passively watched the transmission with Jim in the conference room, reserving all commentary until the end of the file. "I agree that his behavior is abnormal." He said at last after some internal deliberation. "It was as if he were…trying too hard as you might say. However, we have no evidence to suggest that his circumstance is anything but as reported and we do have orders from Starfleet to render aid."

"I know." Jim sighed rubbing his face in frustration. "But something isn't right, Spock, I just know it."

"Another prediction from your internal organs?" Spock asked playfully raising his eyebrow. "I do not believe we can claim that as an authoritative source."

"But it is credible." Jim laughed. "Anyway, what if we could…you know…get some evidence from a credible source."

"I do not understand." He replied cocking his head slightly trying his best to ignore the feeling of dread stirring in his own gut.

"We have extraordinary weapons that we have never had before." Jim began slowly. Even he wasn't certain his plan was a good one, but he at least wanted to hear Spock say it wasn't as crazy as it sounded. "We have people that can gather intelligence in ways we can't. What if…what if we could persuade the evolved humans to help us? Nothing too dangerous, but maybe they can do some background checking just to make sure we aren't stepping in a bear trap."

Spock's eyes, usually as hard as obsidian, softened ever so slightly as he considered the plan even if it was only for a split second and Jim took this as an encouraging sign. "The best way to proceed is to utilize one individual with the most abilities to gather as much data as possible in a short period of time so the Klingons will not become suspicious. However, Peter is not well enough to be of service and I suspect Sylar will not volunteer for such a duty."

"What if we could get them to work together?" Jim asked crossing his arms deep in thought. "I know Peter isn't all back to neat yet, but if we can get Sylar to help him it might not be too much work. And we may have to go that way anyway."

"Because they do not share all the same powers." Spock surmised. "Peter does not possess Sylar's aptitude and Sylar does not have Peter's ability to read minds. At least, according to Dr. McCoy that was not one of the abilities that was transferred during the procedure." He nodded and after a long pause added, "I am hesitant to involve civilians in matters of the Federation, particularly if it places their continued anonymity in peril. However, if they freely agree to be of service I believe their talents will be most useful."

"Got that covered." Jim smiled wickedly. "It's simple- give them uniforms so they look like one of us. The Klingons won't know the difference and I can explain it away to Starfleet if it all goes south."

* * *

Matt, Hiro, Ando, Claire, and Nathan all languished around the rec room in sheer boredom. Since the ship had gone on active status, the research project had been put on hold and they were suddenly barred from certain areas of the ship, leaving them with not much to do other than try to stay out of the way.

Nathan tossed a ball into a wall over and over again as he absentmindedly watched Hiro and Ando damn near kill each other with fencing swords they found stashed in an equipment closet. It was hard for him to believe that at one time Hiro had actually been trusted with an actual antique katana, although to his credit he did make good use of it when the time came at Kirby Plaza. Now if Sylar just had the decency to stay dead…but it wasn't like he was one to talk. After being completely incinerated and shot to death, it wasn't like he had the moral high ground on the topic. After all the radiation and regenerative blood transfusions, it made him wonder if he should ever have another child- god knows what all that did to his DNA. He glanced over at Claire while she pretended to box with Matt and he half smiled. At least she turned out alright- whatever that meant.

He couldn't help but think of how indebted he was to Noah Bennet, as unlikely an ally as there ever was. Noah had adopted her and raised her for all the years that he never knew she even existed- although he had to wonder if Angela did since the company was the orchestrator of the whole thing. Noah worked hard to protect her and give her a normal life and he had to respect him for that. It was obvious that Claire respected him and clearly loved him as a father- in a way he knew she would never see him as the actual contributor of half of her genetic makeup. He always felt more like a big brother to her, just a little outside of her sphere of influence but responsible nonetheless. The only relationship he ever had in his life that was even close was with Pete- who was still resting in his room, being watched over that very minute by none other than Noah Bennet. It always seemed like Noah was there to pick up the pieces of his shattered family ties- with Claire, Pete, and his mother, when he didn't have the strength or desire to. Strange considering his own family was falling apart.

His concentration was broken when Claire randomly asked, "So what do you think the aliens will look like?" To anyone that cared to answer.

"Little green men." Ando smiled. "Don't they all?"

"I think some are grey." Matt shrugged. "But what if they look like the thing from…well, Alien? The 9 foot tall beast with big teeth and slobbers all over the place."

Claire scrunched up her face and laughed. "Eww. That's gross."

"They may not even look like us." Nathan stated resuming his game of one man catch. "They could just be blobs or something. They could have 10 arms or no eyes. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised by anything. We might scare them more than they scare us."

"Maybe they come in peace." Hiro smiled dreamily as he twirled his foil.

Nathan looked at the shorter man and smirked at his optimism. "Let's hope so, Hiro."

* * *

Sylar heard the door chime, but he didn't bother to answer it. He assumed it was either a mistake by someone drifting too close to his door as they passed or worse yet it was Peter- coming to…whatever Peter could possibly have to say to him. He was irritated when the chiming persisted, but almost angry that the door finally slid open without his telling it to. His anger was muted somewhat when Spock slowly but purposefully entered with his hands behind his back. If it were anyone other than the green man, they would have found themselves thrown out the way they came with the slightest flick of his wrist or worse, but he was genuinely curious as to why Spock was paying him a visit. Like himself, Spock was a man of absolute purpose so his being there had a definite agenda.

Spock regarded him with a neutral expression and a slight nod as he spoke in his usual almost monotone voice, "I apologize for the intrusion." He was distracted by the painting on the wall and he seemed to study it for quite some time. "I was not aware that you were an artist." He observed flatly. If he wanted a canvass on which to paint, all he had to do was ask.

"I'm not." Sylar nearly hissed. "I don't even remember painting it, although I know I did." He hung his head, frustrated that for once in his life he had no answers.

"Your subject matter is most disturbing." Spock said dispassionately as he took a step closer to better examine the details. "But I am intrigued. How did you know that my blood is green and not red as your own?"

Sylar lifted his head and squinted at the picture before turning to his guest. "I didn't." He almost whispered in horror.

Spock noted the genuine shock on Sylar's face and he gently raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. I assume this is the result of one of the abilities you gained from Peter, but as I recall he stated that he dreamed of the future."

Sylar massaged his temples in slow circles. He didn't really know why he felt he had to explain himself, yet he did. He wondered if the guilt-like feeling he had was more of Peter's after effects. "He does, or did…I don't know. But _that_…" He jabbed an index finger at the painting for emphasis "is from Isaac Mendez. He was an artist we knew who could paint the future."

Spock studied the picture a moment more and quietly asked, "So this is a moment in the future that will come to pass?"

"Somehow." Sylar sighed. "The thing I have learned is that it isn't always what it seems. In one of Isaac's paintings Peter was dead in a pool of blood, but as you see he is clearly alive. In another, I had cut off a blonde girl's head- which turned out not to be Claire. But I have been staring at this and I can't figure out what the trick is."

Spock turned away from the colorful prediction of his own apparent demise and resumed his rigid stance. "If the future is unalterable, it is not logical to persist in your attempts to find ways to disrupt the timeline. However, it is a fact that the future can be changed. I am not certain in what way this moment will come about, but knowing of the possibility can give us advance warning to prevent its occurrence." Even though Sylar had been down that road before, something in the conviction in Spock's voice gave him a small, fleeting flicker of hope. "And I believe I have the first clue."

* * *

Peter sat up in his bed and listened intently to Jim while Noah looked on with a noncommittal expression. This was clearly going to be his decision- Noah wasn't about to encourage or discourage him because after all he was a grown man who could make his own choices. In a way he was glad Nathan wasn't with him because Jim would have been punched in the mouth before he could get the first sentence out. "So, you want me to go with you and read their minds for…?" He squinted at Jim for clarification.

"Anything that would suggest that they are up to something. We may also need some of your other powers if things go sideways. Do you ever just _know_ something so deep down but no one believes you?" Jim asked passionately.

"Yeah, I do." Peter laughed remembering how hard it was to convince Nathan he could fly.

"That's it! I just know that something isn't right but I can't prove it. I need you to be my ears. I hope I am wrong, but I would almost bet my last credit I'm not. I know this is a bad time and you aren't really felling well, but if I had any other option I wouldn't ask."

"No, it's cool." Peter nodded. "I'm much better than I was, I can do it. If it will help, I will. But won't they think it's a little weird that I'm just wandering around?"

"You won't be." Jim smiled pulling a blue Starfleet shirt out from behind his back and presenting it to his new ally. "You are now an honorary member of Starfleet Medical- the Bones Brigade. You can put those nursing skills to use as part of the medical team for a cover."

Peter smiled as he held the shirt by the shoulders in front of him to inspect it. "Awesome."


	28. Chapter 28 Freudian Slip

**Chapter 28- Freudian Slip**

Sylar eyed the transporter pad with something approaching suspicion. He had long ago worked out the physics of how the process worked- or rather a hypothesis on how it could work based on particle physics- but the technical report his aptitude had generated was of little comfort to him. It wasn't so much the possibility that the transporter could fail that bothered him as Dr. McCoy had ominously voiced to anyone that would listen, but rather an uncertainty on his part regarding his regenerative ability. He simply wasn't sure if his healing ability was up to pulling together his vaporized atoms should they inadvertently become scattered. Worse yet, if Peter's ability also survived- which he knew for a fact it would because he had fixed it himself- would the two get mixed up in a scramble to reassemble particles? It was bad enough that he carried traces of Peter's emotional nature as it was. It was uncomfortable and most inconvenient. The last thing he wanted was physical matter mixing with his, making him some chimera with attributes of both men. He had no idea what that would look like, but he sure as hell knew he didn't want to find out.

Almost as if on cue, Peter brushed past him and took a spot on one of the ovals on the pad. He was a little apprehensive of the transporter, remembering how it made him sick the last time he used it, but he was mentally prepared this time and he took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves while McCoy, Spock, Scotty, and Jim surrounded him as they took their respective places. He readjusted the medical bag that was slung from his shoulder for the hundredth time and tried to think about the task at hand and all that Jim had told him about the Klingons. While he was rehearsing the information in his head, his field of vision was filled with a brilliant shade of red and he glanced up to see Sylar glaring down at him with an expression so vicious he suddenly understood why Sulu thought he could make people's heads explode with only eye contact. "Sylar." He greeted in a low voice. "Surprised to see you here."

"I have my reasons." The taller man quietly sneered. "And they have nothing to do with the greater good." He took the only available position left next to his nemesis with no amount of pleasure. The truth was, once again Spock's logic was flawless and he appealed to his almost incessant need to acquire knowledge. Wouldn't encountering a truly alien race with unknown technology be a great fix? Even though every fiber in his being screamed for him not to go, his hunger demanded it and in the end he relented…again. He didn't know if alien beings had special abilities or if he could even harvest them the same way he did humans, but he secretly aimed to find out.

"No doubt." Peter sighed. The very sight of Sylar made him feel intensely guilty and he wanted to explain, or at least apologize, but he knew it would do no good. He had every right to be pissed and this was one time he would have to sleep in the bed that he made. There was a tension between them that was almost palpable and as everyone was waiting for Chekov to arrive and run the transporter, they all stood in awkward silence and tried to ignore it until Peter broke the ice by giving Sylar a small smirk and complimenting, "Nice shirt."

Sylar tugged at the left sleeve of his red uniform shirt self consciously. His limbs were a bit too long, leaving the sleeve to end just above his wrist. "I look absolutely ridiculous." He groused. "And why red? Why primary colors for that matter? We look like a box of preschool crayons."

Jim turned around to chuckle at his joke while Scotty answered, "Red is Engineering, which you are for the time being, lad. An' a damn good one ta boot Ah hear." Sylar didn't know about Scotty's legendary status as the galaxy's best engineer ever in the history of humanity, so the compliment was wasted on him.

"That is your mission, Mr. Sylar." Spock reminded. "To act as a member of the engineering team under the auspice of repairing the vessel while you gather information on the ship's exact status."

"Yes, I know." He droned a bit irritated. His memory went a bit longer than that of a gold fish and it was all fairly simple. He would do as he was asked, along with a few side projects he had in mind…

"And you hang with me." McCoy stated nodding toward Peter. "We will probably have the most freedom to move around the ship, so that should give you plenty of opportunities. Now remember, Klingons are not humans- they don't take kindly to compassion so if they refuse treatment don't force the issue. Just move on and keep triaging. Leave the more technical stuff to me." Peter gave a determined nod and moved his supply bag yet again. He didn't know why he was so nervous, this was essentially what he did as a paramedic yet he just hoped that he could blend in well enough to get the job done. He didn't want to let Jim or Dr. McCoy down.

Chekov ran through the door breathless as though he sprinted the entire way and took his place behind the console with a meek apology for keeping them waiting. He had just finished delivering the rest of the evolved humans to the bridge to witness the ship's crew in action- so long as they stayed out of the way- per the Captain. Jim felt as though it might make things go smoother if they felt like they were involved and at the very least not cooped up in the rec room like gerbils in a fish tank. He was late because it took quite a bit of convincing and finally intervention by Noah to keep Nathan from storming down to the transporter room to drag Peter off the pad by his new blue shirt. To say he was upset would be an understatement. It was something of a relief to the young Russian to know that his only ability was flight which seemed fairly harmless in such a confined space, but Nathan was a much larger man and very strong…and very, very determined. And it didn't help that Claire was watching the whole exchange with such sadness in her eyes it made him wonder what was going through her mind. He looked at the pad to get a headcount for the logarithm he was programming and when his eyes settled on Sylar, he gave a broad smile and a light chuckle. "A red shirt? That's funny."

"Why is it funny?" Sylar asked narrowing his eyes dangerously at the young man. He didn't make a habit of killing ordinary humans, but if the kid was making fun of him he would make an exception.

"Oh…" Chekov stammered. He didn't want to make the murder man angry. "It's just ironic. Now we have a red shirt that von't die."

McCoy noted the confused look on Sylar's face and he dryly said, "Forget it. Inside joke." He shot Chekov an icy glare that clearly demanded he not say another word and added. "Ready when you are, Ensign. The sooner the better."

"Ah, yes Sir." He eagerly nodded getting the message. "Energizing."

Sylar's mind noted the strange sensation that flooded his body when his molecules began to slowly drift apart until even his mind was disintegrated. When he reappeared in a dark hallway with the others, his aptitude gave a small shout of victory and surprise when he realized that his hypothesis was most likely correct. It had been a long time since he felt the joy of discovery and it brought a smirk to his face. The excitement was short lived, however, when he heard a hoarse coughing by his side. Peter had involuntarily reached out and grabbed Sylar's arm for support as the other arm wrapped around his stomach and he doubled over with nausea. Sylar looked at Peter's hand grasping his shirt as though he were looking at a python dangling from his arm. He was filled with revulsion and felt a distinct impulse to pull away, but he was paralyzed by an opposing urge to remain there. He almost growled when he realized it was Peter's residual empathy acting on its own volition. Uncomfortable and inconvenient.

Jim gave the suffering man another reassuring pat on the back and Bones tended to him until he recovered, apologizing profusely for his natural reaction to the transporter. He really tried to hold it together and he thought he was prepared this time, but he was apparently wrong. "When it comes time to leave," he panted breathlessly, "I think I will just teleport myself. I can handle that." Even though it only took a few minutes for Peter to recover, it was Sylar who felt infinite relief when Peter finally let go of his arm.

* * *

On the bridge, Sulu sat in the Captain's chair with a sense of purpose and dedication. He was an affable man most of the time, but when it came to being in charge he took his duties very seriously. "They are aboard, Sir." Uhura reported just as though Jim had been there. The chain of command was in place and Sulu had been placed in charge as the highest ranking officer on the ship. She was fine with that because she respected him and she knew that someday it might be her that was appointed. Who knew, perhaps she might one day have command of her own ship.

"Thank you." He nodded sternly. "Monitor all communications. Chekov- reroute transporter controls to the bridge and come back up so you can be prepared to snatch them back at the first hint of trouble."

"Aye, Sir." His best friend's voice streamed from the intercom on the chair's control panel. It felt strange having Chekov address him so formally, but he knew it was just protocol.

"I can't believe this." Nathan muttered as he paced at Spock's station like his pants were on fire. "What the hell was he thinking? Does he have some kind of death wish or something? I am telling you, Sylar did something to his head because his brain isn't working!"

"You can't blame this on Sylar." Noah said calmly. He couldn't believe he was defending the evil man, but it wasn't fair to damn him for something he didn't do. There was no doubt Sylar had a laundry list of evil deeds stretching from Earth to Alpha Centauri that he hoped he would burn in Hell for, but this wasn't one of them. "Peter made the decision to go and it was of his own volition. He understood what was being asked of him and he agreed."

"Come on, Nathan. Don't tell me you wouldn't have gone in a second if Jim asked you." Matt nearly laughed. He understood Nathan's protective instinct, but he understood his hypocrisy far better. He was a politician and it was in his nature to live a life of double standards.

"That's different." Nathan all but whispered as he shot the law man a cold glare.

"Peter has many powers and he can use them for good." Hiro said as he pushed his glasses up on his nose with determination. "He is an honorable man."

"Honorable is fine." Nathan spat. "I just don't want him dead and every time he runs out into the wild blue yonder like this that is how he almost always comes back. 'Oh Nathan, I can fly- Nathan, I am going to blow up New York. Nathan, I have to save the cheerleader- Nathan, I nearly drowned in a pool of my own blood after a deranged serial killer threw me over a wall.' It never ends well."

Claire listened with wide eyes that began to tear up slightly. Peter was a hero, he saved her life and she had no idea that his own brother- her father- resented him so much for it. If he hadn't come for her then or even in Mexico, she would have died. How could she mean so little to him? His own flesh and blood? Noah gave Nathan a hard glare as he passed him to give Claire a warm and supportive hug. He knew he couldn't make her forget what she heard, and he would have entertained that possibility if the Haitian were around, but he hoped that in some way he could remind her that she was important and worth saving despite what her callous asshole biological father had to say.

Sulu and Uhura tried to busy themselves with the task at hand and try to ignore what was obviously a private and awkward moment, but they were interrupted by Chekov's arrival. He stopped short when he saw Noah embracing a quietly sobbing Claire and the evil looks Ando and Hiro were shooting at Nathan while Matt and Mohinder talked amongst themselves with an air of disbelief. Sulu frantically motioned for him to get to his station and go about his business and he gladly complied. He didn't know what had transpired in his absence, but he knew he didn't want to be a part of it.

He glanced over his shoulder and tried to ignore Claire's distressed sobs and he remembered the sad look in her eyes. He felt bad for her and wanted to console her as best he could by telling her that whatever made her cry was only temporary and she could be happy again, but he knew it wasn't his place. But if it was, if he could ever mean anything to her, he knew he would never make her cry. He would do everything in his power to keep a smile on her face because something told him it was all she ever really wanted. He turned back to his station and made sure all of the controls for the transporters were functional and he sighed despondently. He wanted to mean something to her, but he probably never would no matter how hard he tried.


	29. Chapter 29 Black Magic

**Chapter 29- Black Magic**

Peter tried not to make it so obvious that he was staring by trying to keep a neutral expression, but he just couldn't shake the awe of being faced with an honest to god alien- and one so fierce looking as the one that approached the group with a stride that conveyed absolute authority and confidence. In the back of his mind he knew that Spock was also an alien by technicality, but for whatever reason his foreignness was easier to accept and hardly even seemed remarkable compared to what he was now faced with.

"Captain Kirk." Koth greeted with bared, pointed teeth that made Peter cringe inwardly. "I welcome you to the ship."

Jim gave a polite nod and returned the greeting with a little more friendliness than the Klingon could have possibly mustered. "Captain Koth. I have assembled a team of medical and engineering staff to offer assistance." He gestured over his shoulder to his compatriots who all stood stoically awaiting orders. "With any luck we can get you all patched up and on your way, but if not we will have to make other arrangements. My first officer and I can work with you and your crew to come up with a contingency plan while my people get to work."

Koth briefly took in the sight of Spock because he needed no introduction- not after the Narada incident. He was known throughout the galaxy for being the poster boy of Starfleet's inclusive propaganda campaign as the first Vulcan to join the organization. Although the Vulcans were one of the early founders of the Federation of Planets, they resisted participating in Starfleet because they deemed their talents better used for their own scientific pursuits, so finding a young, bright Vulcan willing to break the mold was quite a find indeed even if he was half-human and therefore not fully Vulcan or representative of his race.

Even though Klingons had very few dealings with Vulcans, they generally viewed them as inferior due to their pacifist code of conduct and general distaste for warfare. However, Spock once again defied expectations and earned an honorable mention among Klingons for his decisive action to destroy the Narada on a suicide mission. His death would have qualified as honorable according to their beliefs because it would have occurred during battle. And even though he ended up surviving- a stain on his otherwise perfect record according to them- he was redeemed by the fact that he succeeded in taking out many Romulans and anyone who was an enemy of the Klingon's foes was an ally.

His eyes fell on a shorter man in a blue shirt that fidgeted with his medical bag with an intense look on his face. By the looks of it, this was his first encounter with his race and he was tempted to lunge at him and growl just to watch him jump, but the taller man in red caught his attention. This human had the unmistakable look of a warrior in his dark eyes- one who was not afraid of death and one who enjoyed the thrill of battle. Had his ears been pointed and his face tattooed, he could pass entirely for a Romulan and he found himself chuckling lightly. It was a rare thing to find a human with such attributes. Those that did have the killer instinct were locked away on what the Federation politely termed rehabilitation centers, but there was no mistaking it for anything less than a warehouse for those that refused to play well with others and Koth wondered how this one managed to escape such a fate and get into Starfleet nonetheless.

For his part, Sylar maintained the wild man's glare without flinching. No matter how feral he appeared, he knew that with the twitch of his finger he could destroy him so there was not even a modicum of intimidation. Aside from this, the being's primitive appearance with his pointed teeth, wild hair and animal skin and fur trim clothing, Sylar thought he looked like a Neanderthal that he remembered seeing as a child on a class trip to the Natural History Museum. He seemed equally brutish and dimwitted compared to him. Evolution was apparently still an active process and no matter how much the alien tried to physically outdo him the laws of nature dictated that brains beat brawn and in this respect he was the apex of the evolutionary food chain.

"You will find that my crew will likely refuse your medical intervention," Koth stated in a low voice returning his eyes to Jim, "but of those that will agree you can do what you can. I will have my chief engineer meet your people here to escort them to the engine rooms. You and your first officer follow me."

When they were safely out of earshot, McCoy leaned over to Peter and whispered "Get anything yet?"

"He has taken a liking to Sylar." He reported rolling his eyes. "He thinks they have something in common."

McCoy took one look at Sylar and shook his head. "Can't argue there, but I think he'd make a better Romulan."

"Yeah, that's what he thought too." Peter sighed shifting his bag again.

* * *

The atmosphere was deadly silent on the bridge. Claire had stopped crying and tried to put on a brave face, but no one was buying it least of all Chekov. Nathan sat in a nearby chair with his head in his hands, feeling each dirty look that emanated from Uhura, Hiro, and Ando as though they were spears piercing him through and through. He didn't mean for his statements to come out like they did, yet he was made aware with each sob and accompanying "Shhh" from Noah that once again his best intentions had gone sour. It was some kind of Petrelli curse to have what was meant as a simple expression of concern for his brother come out like he hated his own daughter and wished she would die. It was like having the reverse of the Midas touch- instead of gold all he ever made was crap- piles and piles of it to step in and try his best to clean up and he for one was getting damn sick of it.

He wanted to explain it to her or at least say he was sorry although he knew she wouldn't believe a word of it and really, why should she? All he had ever done was publicly ignore her and sweep her under the rug as a political inconvenience, the same he had done to Peter by spontaneously announcing at a fundraiser that his younger sibling was depressed and suicidal when he was trying to prove he could fly by diving off a building. He would never forget the look of absolute shock and betrayal in Peter's eyes that night and ever since then his soul hurt every time he thought about it. But in the end, Peter put on a brave smile and played the martyr just as Nathan knew he would so he could move ahead a few points in the polls. Jesus! What kind of a man does that to his kid brother? What kind of a sick, masochistic bastard had he become that he could so wantonly hurt those around him, blinded by his own agenda? He glanced up and felt his eyes burn and swell with tears. He didn't want to be that man anymore but he had burned so many bridges and taken a few too many turns during double crossings that he was afraid he could never find his way home again.

Claire took a seat next to Chekov and smiled at him nervously. Of all the people in the room, he seemed the most innocuous and the least likely to patronize her. She didn't know why, but she just had that feeling about him and she wasn't disappointed. His blue eyes went wide momentarily, but he gladly made room for her with a polite smile. "So," she stated looking over the many controls that blipped and shined on his console, "what do all these do?"

"I am the navigator for the ship." He proudly explained. "All these displays tell me vhere ve are and I have star maps…" He quickly pulled up an example of their current position for her to examine "so if I get the order to jump away quickly I can program the computer to do it safely."

"Wow." Claire nodded still not understanding what all the readouts meant. "Sounds important. This is certainly not the job for me. I can get lost in a parking lot." She laughed and it was a genuine sound, not at all forced and it was because she instantly felt comfortable around the young Russian.

"Vell, important yes, but it is just one job of many. My friend Sulu is the pilot and his job is wery important. Vithout him ve go nowhere." He turned to smile at his friend and added, "Although he is the Captain right now. Probably the most important job."

"I'm not very good at the whole parallel parking thing, so that is probably out too." She smiled.

"Everyone can do something." He encouraged. "Vhat are you good at?"

"Oh…" she waved him off and shrugged. " I was a cheerleader once. Probably the only thing I was ever good at."

Chekov didn't know exactly what a cheerleader did, but he would have guessed it had something to do with making people happy and he could see that as a good fit for her. "Then perhaps you could vork vith the morale department. They put on dances and parties and activities for the crew, especially vhen ve are in deep space vith nothing to do."

She giggled and said, "No one would want to come to my parties unless they like paper hats and pin the tail on the donkey."

"I vould come." He replied with a quiet smile and he was pleased when she slowly smiled back.

* * *

Sylar and Scotty stood in the sweltering bowels of the ship with the chief engineer keeping a close eye on them. He had brought them down a twisting path of ladders and stood guard over another section of the engine rooms as though there were something he was preventing them from seeing. Scotty jumped right in and was already covered in grease and rust, but he looked happier than a pig in mud unlike Sylar who was not really a fan of getting his hands dirty. The watch repair business was a relatively clean one since dirt could jam up the sensitive gears, and for the most part his new profession of power collecting was also a hands-off affair thanks to his telekinesis. Only when it was necessary to probe the brain to actually collect power did things get a little messy, but even then he was getting proficient in knowing where to look for what he wanted, minimizing the amount of time he actually had to handle brain matter. Of course he always had the option to charm his way into getting powers, but that wasn't nearly as much fun.

He crouched behind a large bit of machinery and pretended to be interested in the inner workings so as not to be suspicious. He gathered information about the Klingons with each piece of the ship he touched using his clairsentience, seeing that they were a warrior race that valued honor, but lacked sophistication. All the while, he surreptitiously glanced around at the configurations of the ship's pipes and wires and let his aptitude do the rest while he absentmindedly fiddled with some loose wires in the machine, connecting them without really meaning to. "Take care with that, lad." Scotty advised as banged away on a pipe with a large wrench. "That's a power station for the main drive. One slip and ya might find yourself blown inta the next quadrant."

"Not like I haven't experienced that before." He grumbled as he thought of Elle. Despite Scotty's warning, he accidently set off a shower of sparks that could have been mistaken for the fourth of July and he drew back his hand with a sharp hiss. Scotty watched wide eyed as the singed flesh smoothed over and Sylar brushed away the charred bits of skin to reveal a perfectly normal hand as though nothing happened. Scotty tried his best to conceal the mixture of horror and fascination he felt and resumed pummeling the pipe into submission with more vigor than before as he pondered what he just witnessed. Unfortunately, the chief engineer had witnessed it as well and he was coming over to investigate.

"What are you?" He growled standing over Sylar in a threatening manner. "What magic do you have to do such a thing?"

Sylar glanced up and a twisted smirk formed on his face as he slowly rose up to tower over the shorter Klingon. "The black kind." He answered simply as he threw the man up against the wall with a flick of his wrist and held him there.

"This can't be!" The engineer howled as he took in his impossible circumstances. "The gods are dead!"

Sylar stalked toward him, letting each footfall echo like a gunshot before he came to a stop in front of his victim. "Is that so?" He asked with a cruel smile and with a casual shrug he added "Well, we're back."


	30. Chapter 30 The Razor's Edge

**Chapter 30- The Razor's Edge**

On Sulu's orders, Uhura replayed the Klingon transmission for the benefit of their guests so they could see what the away team was dealing with. Mohinder looked on with his mouth agape in awe. Theories were spinning in his head regarding evolution and genetics that could create another humanoid sentient being and he was humbled that new life could be found among the trillions of stars, but to see two different races of humanoids- Klingons and Vulcans- seemed beyond all statistical probability and he was deeply moved.

Matt vacillated between fascination and disgust as he squinted at the image on the screen. Finally he chuckled and said, "Check out the forehead on that dude. I could wash my shirt on it." It may have been insensitive or perhaps even un-pc of him to say so, but it was the truth and it did get a laugh from Sulu so he felt vindicated.

Ando and Hiro chatted amongst themselves in Japanese. "He doesn't look friendly," Hiro observed in a dark tone, "I hope Peter will be alright."

"You can't judge people by the way they look!" Ando chided. "Look at us! Who would think that we are superheroes? We are total nerds. All we need are thick framed glasses with tape on them and pocket protectors. We are nerds squared."

Hiro smiled at the pun his friend had made and laughed a bit when he realized that only a nerd would get the reference and he did, but he was ok with the designation. "Every superhero needs a cover." He explained excitedly. "Peter Parker was a photographer, Clark Kent was a journalist, Bruce Banner was a scientist, and Bruce Wayne was a businessman. They were all nerds by day and heroes at night!"

Ando sighed and shook his head. "Why can't I be more like the Iron Man, Tony Stark? He has more money than he can spend and he is always surrounded by beautiful women. _That_ is the kind of hero I want to be." He smiled. Uhura stifled a laugh as she concentrated on her controls. Once more Ando was embarrassed because he had forgotten that she understood Japanese.

Noah just looked on with an expressionless face, the reflection of the Klingon glancing off his horned rimmed glasses. After all he had seen in the business, nothing surprised him anymore. He knew people who could shape shift, make black holes appear, shoot microwaves, and well….blow up over New York like a nuclear bomb. An alien being who apparently did nothing but look menacing failed to impress him.

Nathan wanted to be impressed, but he couldn't manage more than a glance before returning his head to his hands with a sigh. To think his brother was on a ship with them was just too much to contemplate. The nightmare scenarios began to flood his head and he fought to keep them out- everything from cannibalism to bizarre science experiments all seemed an equally horrifying possibility and he just knew this wouldn't end well, but he didn't know what to do about it other than sulk.

Claire looked up and muttered, "Oh, Peter. What have you got yourself into?" She seemed more resigned than upset. She knew that pulling him away from this mission would have been impossible. No matter how many times he had been burned, his faith in a better world was unshakeable and he would always choose to do the right thing no matter what that meant for his own well being. Surprisingly it wasn't the Klingon she was worried about, it was his being more or less alone with Sylar that had her on edge. She knew firsthand how manipulative and downright forceful he could be if he sensed an opportunity and he certainly had the motivation to act on his desires.

Chekov noted the worry etched on her face and he quietly asked, "Is he your boyfriend? Is that vhy you vorry?" If his hunch was correct, he could understand why he would never stand a chance compared to a powerful person like Peter no matter how cool she thought his star charts were.

Claire glanced at him sideways and burst out laughing. "Peter? Oh God no! He's my uncle…" she looked straight ahead and muttered, "That's just gross" as she shook her head.

Chekov was supremely confused. Relieved, but confused. "But if Nathan is Peter's brother and Noah is your father, is Peter Noah's brother too?" It just didn't make sense because Noah seemed too old to be Peter's brother and none of them looked anything alike.

"No." Claire smiled. "Nathan is my father too." When Chekov's brow knitted even tighter over the conundrum, she sighed and added, "It's sorta complicated." Chekov tended to agree. He could easily do complex mathematical computations, but this one had him stumped. He thought he would quit before she told him Ando was her brother.

Behind his back, Sulu gave a knowing glance to Uhura who gave a broad, tight lipped smile and minded her controls. Chekov was a good kid in her mind and he deserved to be happy once in awhile. She knew he would treat Claire right and be a gentleman unlike the pig she knew Jim would be if he got his hands on her. Then again, she knew that Jim was a smart man and he would have a day of reckoning from Noah and perhaps even Nathan if he was anything less than sterling and he would avoid that at all cost. If nothing else, Spock would dissuade him from such an ill advised pursuit.

She paused and thought of Spock and wondered how he was doing on the Klingon vessel. She hadn't talked with him since the Peter incident and suddenly she realized that should anything happen to him, she wouldn't get the chance to tell him how much she cared about him. Yes, Peter was a passing fancy but that's all he was. She took a deep breath and focused on the transmissions that drifted by. Spock would be fine. He usually was when he went on away missions even when Jim and occasionally McCoy came back a little worse for wear, Spock usually had the good sense to stay out of trouble. She began scanning the communicators of the away team and bolted upright when she pinged Scotty's and didn't like what she was hearing.

* * *

"Hold on, now!" Scotty protested scrambling down from his pipe and placing himself near the helpless Klingon. "Ya can't just off him like that! I know that's what's goin though your skull, right?" He tapped the side of his own head with his wrench for emphasis.

Sylar looked coolly down at him and calmly replied, "He knows my secret now. He is a witness and therefore he can't be left alive to tell the others."

"Bloody hell you will!" Scotty exclaimed excitedly. "Whadda think will happen when they find him with his bloomin' head cut off? Do ya think they will let us off the damn ship? Then what? Isn't there somethin' else ya can do?" He nearly pleaded.

Sylar thought about it for a moment before answering, "No. But Peter might."

"Right." Scotty nodded decisively. "Then let's give him a yell before it's off with his head, shall we?" He slowly removed his communicator from his belt all the while wondering exactly how it was that he of all people would get stuck with the unbalanced one of the group.

Sylar heard him, but he was distracted by a hastily constructed box that was just visible over Scotty's head. Instinctively he knew what it was. He himself had been kept in structures such as that- albeit on level 5 with a huge picture window so Bennet could gawk at him like a fish in a small bowl- but it was the same idea. His curiosity got the better of him and he summoned some rods and small diameter tubing from the broken machines with his free hand and hurled them at his victim without so much as a glance to pin him to the wall, freeing him to check out the box.

"Och!" Scotty gasped while the engineer howled in pain. He wanted to say more, but it was all he could do to keep from dropping his communicator and breaking it. As it was, all he could do was stare wide eyed between the rods driven so deep that only a few inches remained visible and the remorseless man who had lost interest in his prey and was now slowly making his way to a rusty steel box a few feet away as though he had already forgotten what he had just done to another living being.

Sylar approached the hastily constructed box and ran the tips of his fingers along the jagged weld line. Flashes of the welder filled his mind along with the purpose of his creation: to contain a prisoner, an enemy that might bring an end to his way of life.

Scotty watched with anticipation. Clearly something had caught his attention and as he had to believe that his powers gave him access to information that he personally couldn't pick up, he had to give him the benefit of the doubt. When Sylar's posture froze when he looked into the slat, he couldn't take it anymore. There was something in that box and he had to know what it was. Against his better judgment, he scurried up next to the crazy man and peeked in. Staring back at them were the dark eyes of a Romulan and Scotty's stomach turned.

* * *

Koth had been correct when he said most of his crew would refuse medical treatment and Peter found this more than just a little frustrating. If supplies were low or injuries incredibly minor, he might have understood, but the overt machismo that he was faced with time and again nearly blew his mind. It was as if they were hoping to die from infection or blood loss and the more they suffered during the process the better. It was disheartening to him, but McCoy had warned him against trying to persuade them otherwise so he didn't although he felt like he wasn't really doing his job if he didn't at least try to talk them into it. It wasn't the first time he had patients refuse treatment and each had their own reasons for doing so, but he could live with that as long as he knew they were making an informed decision. He wasn't so sure they were being rational about it and it gnawed away at the edges of his heart to think they might die or at the very least be disfigured when he had the means and know-how to fix the problem.

He knelt by what he assumed was a female a few feet in front of McCoy. If it weren't for the presence of breasts, he could easily mistake her for a male and as touchy as Jim warned him they could be, he was extra careful to walk on eggshells. "Do you want me to take a look at that?" He asked gesturing to a wound on her arm. It was a laceration and nothing more, but it looked as though it happened days ago and he was worried about infection or possibly tetanus given the amount of rust floating freely in the atmosphere.

She looked him over with a growl, but curtly nodded yes. Peter started to smile, but remembered that they were not like humans and may take that as an aggressive gesture, so he kept a straight face and inspected the wound by scanning it with the tricorder McCoy gave him a crash course on. It was difficult for him not to try and form at least a tentative bond with her because he always did that with all his patients, even the most difficult and belligerent drunk he was called to check on in Central Park at 4:00am, it was just in his nature but he had to fight it now because at least in this case it wasn't adaptive and may give him away.

As he carefully dressed the wound, he casually scanned her thoughts and then deeply regretted it. She thought he was handsome even for a human and wondered what it would be like to mate with him. But it didn't stop there because the thoughts were accompanied by brutal mental images of incredibly rough sex in which he was bleeding badly and may have suffered some broken bones. He was relieved when McCoy gave him a tap on the shoulder and informed him, "Scotty needs us down in the engine rooms." He tried his best not to judge them because as a culture they were entitled to their own beliefs and practices, but he didn't want any part of a society where the women killed their mates like black widows. He didn't stick around to find out if she would eat his carcass afterwards, but he wouldn't have been surprised.

* * *

"I knew it!" Matt hissed as he listened to Scotty's transmissions stream down from the intercom. "Let him out of your sight for a second and he tries to carve up people's heads like a pumpkin at Halloween." Claire shot him an offended look and he hastily added, "Sorry. Bad example, but you know what I mean."

"At least Scotty was able to talk him out of it from the sound of it." Mohinder mused. "Unless that god awful screaming was him being finished off." The words tasted foul in his mouth and he didn't want to think about possibly hearing someone murdered live over the intercom.

"He didn't kill him." Noah sighed with such certainty it earned him a few incredulous stares. "You could still hear him moaning in the background when Scotty called for Dr. McCoy," he calmly explained as though he were instructing a classroom of preschoolers, "if Sylar cut his head open he wouldn't have survived that long. Dead men don't moan. Logic, people." He gently chided with a smug smile.

"Have you ever considered putting mittens on him so he can't point at things? Or a blindfold? Or a muzzle…" Uhura trailed off.

"If only it were that easy." Nathan mumbled into his hands. "You could put him in a straightjacket and suspend him upside down in a tank of cement and somehow he would Houdini his way out of it. He is a curse that we all have to live with, so you might as well just get comfortable."

Sulu was listening to the banter that flowed in the room, but he was stuck on the fact that there was something unusual in Scotty's voice when he called for McCoy. There was a distinct tightness that hinted at a larger problem than he was letting on that gave him away. Scotty was not a man who was easily rattled, so whatever this new development was it was worrisome. "Uhura," He called swiveling just like Jim in his chair, "continue to monitor all communications. There is something going on down there and I want us all to be ready to act at a moment's notice if need be. Chekov, see if you can work in a few scans now and then just to make sure everyone is present and accounted for. But I want you to stop if there is even a hint of their systems coming back online. We don't want to provoke a reaction."

After he received verbal confirmation of his directives, he sat back in the chair and wondered if this is what Jim felt: the constant second guessing, the wrenching guilt if things went wrong, and always walking the razor's edge between missing some minuscule yet important detail and completely overreacting. All he knew was that his shipmates were down there along with civilians and if any of them came back in less than perfect shape he would always feel as though he failed.


	31. Chapter 31 Mind Games

**Chapter 31- Mind Games**

McCoy stopped in front of the impaled Klingon and stared up at him with an incredulous squint. Rationally he could guess how the rods had come to be buried so deep in his flesh, but to see the engineer hanging on the wall like a painting over a sofa just seemed surreal despite the fact that Sylar had once done the same thing to him and three other grown adults as though it took no effort whatsoever. If all of the data they had gathered during testing was to be believed, it certainly didn't if he could levitate a shuttle craft without so much as breaking a sweat.

Peter paused only for a second to take in the sight before shaking his head and continuing on to his final destination by Scotty and the mystery box. It wasn't that he didn't care about what Sylar had done, he just wasn't in the least surprised and he knew that the Klingon would likely refuse any attempts at help anyway. At any rate, he felt it best to let Dr. McCoy deal with it while he sorted out whatever mess he had been called for. He gave a disdainful look to Sylar and quipped, "Way to be incognito, moron. I thought you were good at this cloak and dagger stuff." He glanced over at the crucified man and grumbled, "Real subtle."

"He knows, Peter." Sylar nearly growled. "I could have killed him, but Shamus over here thought letting him live was a better solution."

Scotty bristled at the insult. "Shamus is an Irish name, not Scottish! I'd be grateful if ya'd not confuse the two ya wanker!"

Sylar rolled his dark eyes. "As if haggis is really any better than Guiness. Seriously."

"Guys," Peter interrupted with a sigh, "that isn't really important right now. We have to figure out what to do with the hanging man over there before someone else finds him."

"You have Parkman's ability." Sylar casually stated with a smirk. "And we all know that his power goes both ways." He didn't verbally express it, but he let the implication hang heavy in the air while his intense eyes bored holes into the younger Petrelli.

Peter knew very well that Matt used it to convince Sylar and everyone else that he was in a deep coma so he could trick him and the veiled reference felt like a slap in the face. He didn't need to be reminded of the incident, but more than that it meant that it was still fresh in Sylar's mind. If that were the case, revenge couldn't be far behind. He held the evil man's gaze steadily and wondered why he expected anything less. "I have never used it like that." He almost whispered while sweat ran down his temple. "I don't know that I could. I don't even know if it works like that with aliens."

Sylar gave the steel box a sharp slap and the ringing resonated throughout the small, cramped, and boiling hot room. "Well, here is your chance to find out." He gestured to the peep hole for Peter to look through.

"What's this?" He asked hesitantly. He didn't want to take his eyes of Sylar for a second if he didn't have to.

"A Romulan." Scotty grumbled with a hint of disgust in his voice that pleased Sylar in a small way.

Peter cautiously peered into the darkness and almost gasped when he saw a very human like being with fierce looking facial tattoos and very dark eyes looking back at him. He was at once filled with a sense of wonder and fear and wondered what he was doing there. "Hello." He greeted in a friendly voice, but the man did not acknowledge him. He turned to Scotty and asked, "Does he speak English?"

"Aye." Scotty confirmed with a weary sigh. "Standard's….well, the standard language of the Federation but Romulans speak it too. He's just bein' a stubborn bastard."

Peter smirked and again locked eyes with the man, this time squinting and tilting his head slightly. "What's your name?" he asked. The man didn't respond- at least out loud- but Peter was able to read his thoughts just as he could anyone else's and it almost made him smile. He went on to ask him more questions that were met outwardly with stony silence, but Peter got what he wanted. He turned back to his colleagues and said, "His name is Mendak and he was kidnapped from his ship about a week ago. He has been held in this box since that time. He is very thirsty and hungry. Apparently the Klingons have not treated him well, but he doesn't know why he is here." Peter jumped when Mendak flew at the slot and tried to reach through it to presumably wring his neck, but Sylar stopped him by nudging Peter out of the way with the flick of his finger. Peter looked at Sylar astonished that he would protect him like that and Sylar looked equally perplexed. He didn't even realize he had done it.

Scotty eyed the wild Romulan with a sense of weary duty. "We have to tell the Captain." He reluctantly decided. "If the man's bein' held against his will as a prisoner, we can't escort the Klingons and take him to his death. He'll have to be returned to his people before we go anywhere."

"Shit." McCoy spat as he shuffled over to the group shaking his head. "Why can't anything just be simple? Just for once I would like to have a quiet mission with no major complications or catastrophes. Is that really too much to ask?"

"Aye!" Scotty laughed. "It is."

"Alright, Peter." Sylar cooed as he tapped a slow rhythm on the steel box. It sounded eerily like the ticking of a clock. "Now you know you can read their thoughts. Time to see if you can pull a Parkman. If not, I will kill them both."

Peter swallowed hard because he knew it was no idle threat. He had no real idea of how exactly Matt was able to make people believe what he wanted them to, but he had better figure it out fast. With an intense look in his eyes, he concentrated hard to push his thoughts into the Romulan's head as he muttered, "You don't know anything about us. We are just normal humans that you have never seen before" until he saw Mendak's eyes glaze over.

* * *

Jim sighed nervously as he clamped a hand over his communicator to muffle the transmissions while he strained to pay attention to Koth. He shot a sideways glance at Spock who gave him an almost imperceptible nod which told him the Vulcan's sensitive hearing was still monitoring the soft chatter. It was just as well, Spock was probably better at dividing his attention than he was.

Koth tilted his head and fought the urge to accuse his rescuers of being rude. "Is everything alright?" He asked as dispassionately as he could without appearing suspicious.

"Yeah." Jim nodded with conviction, clamping down on his communicator even more. "That was my engineer. Apparently there was some kind of accident in the engine rooms, but it appears to be under control now." Jim was a Zen master at half truths. He could never be accused outright of being a liar, but he wouldn't hesitate to err on the side of omission when the circumstances demanded it of him.

"Accident?" Koth asked lightly raising his eyebrow.

"Indeed." Spock confirmed with a tight nod. Jim almost laughed when he realized that this was all the Klingon was going to get out of him. If Jim was the master of elaborate half truths, Spock was the master of stubborn simplicity. How could you argue with a response like that? Vulcans never lied and this fact was well known in every corner of the universe, but Spock was becoming quite adept at his own brand of sidestepping that made Jim downright proud.

"So," Jim smiled trying to change the subject, "how are you guys doing on supplies? Do you need any food or water?"

"Or supplies are sufficient." Koth reluctantly replied. There was something about the young Captain that didn't sit well with him, but as if having a Romulan prisoner on board wasn't bad enough he couldn't imagine the hell he would catch if he got into a battle with Starfleet over their missing star Captain and their only Vulcan member.

"Good. It seems like preliminary reports from my CMO are that injuries have been minor. How'd you guys get all the way out here near Romulan territory, anyway?" Jim asked with a sly smile.

"Patrolling the sector." Koth sneered back.

Jim scoffed and slowly said, "I see." He didn't believe him for a second. There was no reason for him to be nearly on the border, Klingons had no collateral outposts or mining operations this far out of their sector to protect. "And the Romulans just appeared out of nowhere and attacked your vessel for no apparent reason?" Koth glared back at him with eyes that screamed for his blood, but Jim didn't flinch. More and more it seemed as though his suspicions were correct. There was something else going on, some bigger picture that he couldn't yet see but he knew was there.

"It is your right to patrol your airspace," Spock coolly interjected, "but I believe what the Captain is attempting to ascertain is the likelihood of another surprise attack by the Romulans during this mission. If they have mounted an offensive in this manner on your ship it is logical that they will attempt a similar strategy."

Koth regarded the Vulcan with a wary eye as he felt his rage subside. Vulcans never lied, so perhaps he misinterpreted the young man. He made a mental note to play his cards a little closer to his vest so as not to give himself away. He was new to this whole negotiation thing. If it were up to him, he just would have battled them both- at the same time if they preferred- and forced the others to fix his ship and crew so he could be on his way. But as it was, to disobey direct orders from the High Council would bring great dishonor to him and his family forever so he had to sit there and bear the tedious process. He felt like a prisoner on his own ship.

* * *

"Sir, I think I have found something." Uhura announced as she held her earpiece to better hear the faint transmission that buzzed in her ear. "It is a Romulan communication between ships. It seems they think one of them is being held prisoner by the Klingons. They are planning an attack on the vessel."

"How could that be?" Sulu asked perplexed. "The Klingons don't take prisoners and where the hell would they hide him on the ship so the away team wouldn't find him?"

"Maybe they put a wig on him." Chekov shrugged. "But ve have to varn them that they are in danger."

Nathan's head snapped up as it all began to coalesce for him. Peter was on the ship that was about to be attacked and he didn't like it one bit. "Can't you yank them back with the transporter thingy?" He asked desperately.

"Yes, but we would have to evacuate the entire ship, not just our crew and that takes some doing." Sulu explained.

"Then do it!" Nathan roared as he stood up. He understood military protocol very well as a former officer himself, but the fear of Peter being harmed swelled up within him like a volcano and was unstoppable. "Dammit, if you won't, I will fly over there myself and get him!"

"Nathan," Noah said soothingly as he moved to his side, "calm down. This has to be done strategically. I know you are worried about Peter and we all are, but let them do their job and he will be ok. We have to trust them."

He sighed and gripped the edge of Spock's console so hard his knuckles turned white. He never would have said that he shared a psychic bond with his brother, but his gut told him this was going to end badly and he wanted to throw up.


	32. Chapter 32 Cover Up

**Chapter 32- Cover Up**

Upon Koth's insistence, Jim and Spock followed him down to the engine rooms to find out what exactly had transpired. As Jim slowly climbed down the ladders, sweat began to form on his forehead and he was wondering if the ship had drifted too close to a neighboring star system not too far away. He sincerely hoped not since that system was in Romulan airspace and contained a colony and a prison planet where they mined pergium, a radioactive element that was fairly rare but commonly used for energy in reactors. If he were sitting comfortably in his captain's chair on the Enterprise, he might not have worried so much since the ship's shields would protect him from the intense heat and radioactivity of the mines. But as it was, he was crawling around in a disabled, rusty deathtrap with absolutely no defenses. Spock for one seemed happy as a clam with the soaring temperatures and he might have smiled if he could actually bring himself to, which Jim found irritating. He was convinced the man could live comfortably on the surface of the sun.

When all had made it down the ladders, the air became heavy with the smell of burnt wire and singed flesh. Combined with the heat and sweat of the others, it was nauseating but the sight of the still smoldering corpse of the Klingon engineer laying on the floor by the power station was even worse. Koth stood over the body of his crewmate, but didn't seem overly upset by the tragedy to the relief of Peter, McCoy and Scotty. They stood quietly trying not to think about what they had just witnessed only seconds before.

Peter had considerable difficulty in convincing the man that Sylar was not in any way special- he clung to his belief that the red shirted man was a god of some sort with such tenacity that Peter wanted to scream in frustration. Sensing the impending arrival of the command staff, he reluctantly turned to Sylar and admitted defeat with a simple lowering of his eyes. With absolutely no expression to indicate his thoughts, Sylar went to work by removing the rods and sending them clattering to the floor while he held the man where he was. With one quick motion he flipped the man over and made a neat incision in the back of his neck to sever the brain stem in order to ensure a quick and explainable death before placing him by the machine and covering most of the puncture wounds by blasting him with a stream of electricity. Unfortunately he gave it a bit too much effort and ended up catching him on fire, but McCoy quickly put it out by beating on him just as Koth's boots appeared down the ladder.

Peter felt as though it was all his fault and it made him sick to watch Sylar so ruthlessly end a life- a life he could have saved if he could have been better at Parkman's ability. He was complicit in his death and he felt guilty for helping cover it up even though he knew that there really were no other options. Maybe if he just tried harder it would have worked. He subconsciously wiped at his nose and paused when he noticed blood on his fingers. He momentarily felt dizzy, but he remained steady on his feet and convinced himself that it was from the heat. He just needed to drink more water…or something.

"It was an unfortunate accident. He was working on the power station when it short circuited, apparently electrocuting him." Sylar calmly reasoned in a low voice. Almost as an afterthought he nodded at Jim and quickly added, "_Sir_." He hated even pretending that Jim was his superior, but he had to play the part perfectly if he was going to be convincing.

Jim nodded and had to restrain himself from covering his mouth to keep from gagging. To be in such a confined space with a seared Klingon was more than he bargained for. He almost believed Sylar until he was tipped off by the way McCoy was frowning down at the victim. Peter looked vaguely uncomfortable as well, but he didn't know him well enough to say that it was an abnormal reaction for him. But he knew Bones in and out and that look plainly told him that something was rotten in Denmark- that was the same look he always got when he either lost a patient he fought incredibly hard for or the times when his patients never had a chance. Jim thoughtfully bit his lip when he noticed the doctor's clothes were not covered in soot or blood which meant he didn't even try to save him and that was unlike the doctor he knew.

Koth, on the other hand, bought Sylar's explanation hook, line, and sinker. After all, all indications were he died just as the man said he did, his burns and random injuries were proof of an accidental explosion. He trusted the young engineer because he felt the man's warrior spirit and that was something he could identify with, and if he was with Starfleet it meant he was also honorable. He had no reason to challenge him, which left him with only the disposal of the body and the tricky question of how to find out if they found the Romulan.

"Please leave us." Koth growled feigning distress over the death of his engineer. "I wish to perform the ritual of the dead in private."

After all had gone, he strode over to the box and demanded, "Did you speak to them? Do they know of you?" His captive was startled by his presence and looked back at him in a confused and questioning manner. Koth studied him closely and began to wonder if he was starting to suffer ill effects from the heat- he appeared in a daze and unsure of his surroundings. He made a note to provide more water and perhaps a little more food- although the Romulan wasn't really eating what he did get- because he couldn't afford to have him die in transit. Satisfied that his secret was still safe, he snarled at his prisoner and chuckled at the bewildered look he got as a response. The slight fear in his ward's eyes was greatly pleasing to him.

After he turned away, Mendak's face slowly began to harden into a determined glare and he smirked to himself in the darkness.

* * *

The temperature above deck was at least somewhat cooler and Jim sat down along the wall next to McCoy facing Sylar, Peter and Spock on the other side of the hallway. Scotty paced back and forth because he just couldn't bring himself to relax after all he had just witnessed. He frantically hoped the pacing would help push the memories out of his mind- at least for the time being so he could still do his job. He simply couldn't afford to have a mental breakdown now. He repeated to himself that if he could survive being marooned on Delta Vega for years with nothing but ice monsters and Keenser to keep him company, he could get through this. He wanted to ask Peter to do the mind thing on him to make him forget, but he wasn't looking to keen at the moment as he sat slumped against the wall like a discarded action figure with traces of blood around his nose.

Jim watched Scotty for a minute or so until he decided it was making him nervous, so he turned to his friend and the disgusted, world weary look on his face concerned him. The last time he saw that face was when he first met him on the shuttle to the Academy when he more or less told him he had nothing left to lose. "Hey." Jim whispered as he elbowed the doctor lightly in the ribs. McCoy snarled at him, but gave up and this only deepened his concern. Bones never gave up that easy. He wondered what went on down there to rip his very soul out and he instinctively glanced across the hall at Sylar.

Sylar felt the captain's eyes piercing him and he slowly raised his own to return the glare from under his dark eyebrows. From the decks below, Koth let out an eerie howl of mourning that reverberated off the walls and sent chills up the spines of all who could hear it.

* * *

"What do you think they will do?" Mohinder nervously whispered to Matt. He was aware that it was sort of taboo at the moment to speak of current events because they all wanted to keep Nathan calm, but he just couldn't help himself and he figured that if he whispered no one else would hear him break the law.

"How the hell would I know?" Matt shrugged. "I don't know what these people are capable of."

"Can't you read their minds?" He insisted almost desperately.

"Not through a huge TV screen!" Matt laughed as he gestured at the image of the Klingon ship floating in the front of the room. "It's not like I can yell at the TV while I am watching a Colts game and tell Peyton Manning to throw a Hail Mary and actually have him hear me! Christ, man."

"Alright!" Mohinder hissed as he looked around the room hoping no one else heard them. "You don't have to yell at me you know. I swear it is like having you for a roommate again." He groused.

Matt smiled and taunted, "You miss me, I can tell."

"I can assure you that is not the case." Mohinder stated emphatically as he folded his arms in protest.

"Yes you do." He playfully pressed.

"I most certainly do not." Mohinder retorted. "I was just fine in the company of the building's cockroaches before you came along to swill beer and watch your American football." He shook his head and added, "What a ghastly sport."

"Just say the word and I'll move back in." Matt continued.

"I'd rather you not. I just recently asked the cockroaches to return and I even cut a small hole in the bottom of the front door so they can come and go as they please. They are far more polite than you. At least they clean up after themselves." Matt couldn't do anything but laugh at Mohinder's smug smile, but he soon quit when the mood suddenly shifted on the bridge.

"We can't wait any longer," Sulu declared with conviction. "Alert the away team that they are in danger and begin evacuations. The Romulans may be sitting out there and we just can't see them."

"Aye, Sir." Uhura responded sharply. Nathan was relieved that something was finally happening. He was just trying to figure out if he could survive flying through space to get Peter or if his skills as a pilot could transfer well enough to steal a shuttle craft, but now it looked as though they were finally getting their butts in gear and taking the threat seriously. "Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Come in, Captain." She called. "Commander Spock? Do you read me?" She persisted as she quickly manipulated her controls. "No response, Sir."

"Keep trying." Sulu encouraged. "Chekov- are you picking up anything on the scans?"

"Nothing unusual." He reported while Claire looked on. "The away team appears to all be together in an interior passage and they appear to be in good health…more or less…" he glanced nervously at Sulu.

His stomach sank and he slowly asked, "Who is less?"

"It's Peter, Sir." He said as though he were genuinely sorry. "His signal is a little veaker than it vas vhen he left. His witals are fine, so…" He waved his hands in the air as though he were trying to pull an explanation out of the air.

"It is probably interference." Sulu said trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He could feel Nathan's eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. "If his vitals are good, he is fine. There is something wrong with the sensors."

"Aye, Sir." Chekov nodded miserably. It wasn't impossible that the sensors could be off, but even he knew it was highly unlikely. He was just surprised that it wasn't Jim with the messed up signal; amazingly, he seemed to be completely fine and that was almost harder to explain given his track record.

Claire let out a small gasp when like a mirage, a large ship appeared out of nowhere, and then another and yet another, latching onto the Klingon ship with red beams. Sulu almost went pale when he realized he was between a rock and a hard place. The Enterprise could try to deploy its tractor beam as well, but with the ship in such a fragile state, it would likely tear it apart. And now that the beams were attached, the transporters were going to be useless against all the background interference. He might be able to get some kind of signal, but god knows what he would actually end up with on the pad- it was just too risky.

"Shields up." He commanded. It was like the Kobyashi Maru exam all over again. His solution then was to let the Maru crew die, but that wasn't an option this time and this was no simulation. There was nothing he could do but wait and watch and pray that he would do better this time.


	33. Chapter 33 Vote Petrelli

**Chapter 33- Vote Petrelli**

Inside the Klingon ship, Jim and Spock listened to the groaning of the weak hull as it strained against the pull of the tractor beams with a sense of dread. "How long do we have, Scotty?" Jim quietly asked.

Scotty ceased his pacing to better hear the death knell of the metal and sighed, "I'd guess 10 maybe 20 minutes at best before she gives way."

"What's happening?" Peter asked in a daze as he rolled his head in Jim's direction. He was feeling every bit like hell and probably looked it as well judging by McCoy's expression, but he had to pull himself together; Jim asked him to come for a reason and he simply couldn't allow himself to become a liability, so he chose to ignore his own discomfort and focus on the task at hand. It didn't help that Sylar and Spock were both staring at him as if they knew he was hiding something.

"That's the sound of trouble." McCoy grumbled. "Romulan trouble."

"They came to get their guy back." Sylar smirked. "How touching. No man left behind."

"Wait!" Jim exclaimed bolting upright, his blue eyes wide. "What? Came to get who?"

"The guy the Klingons have been holding captive in a cage for a week down there." Peter sighed pointing at the floor. "Mendak I think his name was."

Jim shot Spock a smug look that clearly screamed 'I told you so!' but he didn't have time to gloat, the Romulans were no doubt pissed and probably didn't give a damn about killing members of Starfleet or civilians in the process because there clearly was no love lost between them. Relations were still a little touch and go since the whole Narada thing. He had to come up with a plan and fast if any of them were going to live long enough to see dinner time. He pulled his communicator from his belt and almost threw it against the wall when all he got was the thick hiss of static that he knew was impenetrable.

"Too bad Ando wasn't here." Peter shrugged. "He might have been able to boost the signal."

"Will any of your respective abilities be of assistance in this matter?" Spock asked casually as if their impending deaths were not at stake.

Sylar had to admire him for that even though his own death was not imminent. He could afford to be cool when he knew he couldn't die, he wasn't sure how Spock could though since he was very much mortal. In some ways that made him the better man he had to admit. "The only option we have is for Peter to reach Matt telepathically, but I am guessing the crew already know about the situation." He reasoned.

"A logical conclusion." Spock nodded. McCoy rolled his eyes at the sudden love fest between the hobgoblin and the cold blooded killer. How was it that the two biggest misfits of the group would get along so well?

Below them they heard Koth growling and what sounded like a fight. Jim scrambled to his feet with Spock, Scotty and McCoy on his heels as he ran back to the ladders. Peter and Sylar glanced at each other and shrugged. "They wanted us for a reason." Peter declared as he stood on wobbly legs until his head cleared.

Sylar took in his pale complexion knowingly as he slowly but purposefully walked past to take the lead. He could have rationalized it a million ways, but in the end he did it because the damn empathy told him to and he couldn't stop himself. As he approached the ladder he couldn't help but feel like one of Doyle's puppets pulled by empathetic strings, but he was reasonably sure that Peter wasn't the master of this indignity. Petrelli didn't seem to know about the internal struggle that was going on within him so it was unlikely that he was his personal marionette. The very thought sickened him.

* * *

"Sir, the Romulans have boarded the ship." Chekov called in an urgent voice.

"How many?" Sulu asked as he stared at the screen in front of him. There were probably enough Romulans out there to populate a city which made him wonder exactly what the Klingons were up to.

"7." He replied and then he paused. "Make that 6, Sir. One has just died."

"Sir, we have an incoming hail from the Romulans." Uhura reported. "I'm putting it onscreen."

Sulu sat solidly in the Captain's chair as a female Romulan glared down at him. "You are not Captain Kirk." She sneered as she squinted.

"You seem disappointed." Sulu smiled. "But I am the acting captain, so what can I do for you?"

The whole affair did seem a bit of a letdown for her, but she pressed forward with her business. "We have no quarrel with you," she stated holding her head high, "our war is with the Klingons who captured one of our top scientists. We came only to get him back, but if you intervene we will not hesitate to attack."

"And we have no quarrel with either of you." Sulu smiled gracefully. "We are here to escort the Klingons back to their home world. If your scientist is aboard that vessel, we will not prevent him from being returned to you. But we also have our crew onboard. If any of them are harmed, we will of course come to their defense."

"And so we have a standoff." She nodded grimly.

"It isn't that complicated." Nathan blurted out. "We won't kill your men if ours are returned safely. Look, we all want the same thing here and to be perfectly honest, the Klingons don't really matter to either of us, so why don't we just smile and shake hands so we can all walk away winners instead of engaging in a pointless pissing contest?" The politician in him was in full force and he flashed a congenial smile that made the Romulan smirk with amusement.

"Well spoken," she cooed with a glint in her eye, "for a _human_." Despite the insult, Nathan never let his smile waver because she could think whatever she wanted so long as he was able to use his charms to save his brother and Jim- of whom he held a higher opinion of than Sulu. It wasn't personal, he just thought Jim was a better commander and he wanted the best possible person doing the job. "I will confer with the other captains."

As soon as she disappeared from the screen, Sulu spun in his chair and almost howled, "A pissing contest? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that somebody on this ship had to grow some balls to end this!" He retorted with fire in his eyes. "I know that a lot of time has passed and a lot of things have probably changed, but war and the basest of human nature hasn't- two things I have had more experience with than I care to admit to. If kissing her ass with a smile on my face is what it takes to get everyone back on this ship unharmed, then by god that's what I'll do and I suggest you start thinking of ways to placate them too because we are way outnumbered right now and it will take every bit of skill and deception we can muster to win this."

Noah cocked his head and sighed, "As much as it pains me to say this, he's right you know. You have to know when to fight and when to live to fight another day."

Sulu had to fight to keep his composure. "I really do appreciate your input, but that is exactly what I am trying to do here. With all due respect, you know nothing about the Romulans or how they operate. We have to be careful with making pacts with them because in the blink of an eye it can all go sideways and our hands could be tied. Do you think for a second that I want my crewmates to die out there? Because they might- just because the Romulans have a particular dislike for Jim and Spock that is exactly what may happen and Scotty and the others might be taken down along with them. The Romulans are cruel and god knows what they will do to them before they actually die."

"Peter wouldn't let that happen." Ando stated emphatically. "He would find a way and Sylar too, but only because he is selfish."

"Are you seriously trusting Sylar to save them?" Claire asked incredulously. "He would be the first to jump ship to save his own hide- to hell with everyone else."

"He agreed to go in the first place, didn't he?" Mohinder asked. He hated having to defend him, but the memory of him in the lab when he told him about his mother was strong and he knew that there was more to him than met the eye. "He didn't have to and there was nothing in it for him."

"That we know of." Matt grumbled. "There had to be something for him to get on that pad. You know he never does anything unless there is something in it for him. You saw what he did to Peter."

"Yeah," Noah nodded, "he fixed him just like he said he would. I know him better than anyone and I know that he is a sick son of a bitch, but I also knew him when he was Gabriel Gray- a man who wasn't motivated by greed, a man who was good, who wasn't twisted and maniacal. I think that was the man that went down there with them. I'm not saying he is 100% the watchmaker, but it wasn't all Sylar either."

"Either way," Sulu agreed, "I hope we won't have to find out."

* * *

Jim tried not to look too annoyed as he held his hands in the air in surrender along with the others. Admiral Pike's words rang in his ears, '_Don't go getting into a fight out there'_ and he wished he hadn't heard him because he wanted nothing more than to deck the Romulan that spit on him in the face, but he knew he was outnumbered. If it was just him, he would have taken those odds, but he had others to think of and although it pained him, he had to use his head instead of his fist to solve this.

"Captain Kirk," the Romulan sneered, "what a pleasant surprise to see you all the way out here with the Vulcan bastard child."

Spock's eyebrow twitched slightly as he calmly refuted, "My parents were bonded at the time of my conception, so it is improper to imply that I was born out of wedlock. Additionally I have reached the age of adulthood and have not been a child for many years. These obvious errors on your part indicate a statistically improbable low level of intelligence."

When the Romulan did not reply, McCoy jumped in with a mean glint in his eyes, "Let me translate for you: that's Vulcan for 'you're a fucking moron.'" Sylar smirked at the doctor's inability to keep his mouth shut at the most inopportune times, but it was funny.

"I will most enjoy returning with your tongue nailed to the wall of my ship." The Romulan replied with a cruel smile. "As well as with the head of your captain and his first officer."

"It is not them you want." Mendak called from the box, "It is the others, the ones in red and blue. They have magic that we could use. I have seen it with my own eyes."

"Magic?" The Romulan asked amused. "What use do we have for tricks?"

"They are powerful, and we can use them." Mendak insisted as he rattled the door of his cage. "The one in red can move objects from far away and the one in blue can read the thoughts of another as if they had spoken it aloud."

The Romulan turned to Peter and Sylar and smirked. "Is this so?"

"It is." Peter confirmed stepping forward with his hands still in the air. Apparently, Matt's ability didn't work on him either and that irritated him. "And if you let the others go, I will go with you."

"I can't let you do that." Jim insisted. "I can't let you go with them, do you know what they will do to you?"

"It doesn't matter." Peter shrugged. "All I care about is that they keep their word that you will be returned to your ship safely along with Spock, Scotty, and Dr. McCoy. We aren't your concern anymore. Right Sylar?"

Sylar wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, every fiber in his being screamed for self preservation and this didn't seem a likely way of achieving that goal. But there was something in Peter's hazel eyes that begged him to trust him, something that said he had a plan and it would all work out. It was amazing to think that some of that smarmy political suave that Nathan wielded so deftly might flow through Peter's veins as well, but he might be onto something. He didn't know what that plan was, but he had one of his own: if Petrelli didn't follow through, he would kill every last Romulan on the ship and then try his best to kill Peter for dragging him into this whole mess. He warily took a step forward to stand next to Peter in agreement.

"It is a bargain." The Romulan nodded. "But before I return them, you must first prove to me that what Mendak claims is true."

Peter cocked his head and read the thoughts of the leader before turning to Sylar and saying, "He wants to get Mendak out, but doesn't know how. They don't have the tools." Sylar almost sighed with boredom as he stretched out his hand and ripped the door from the box. It fell with such a loud clatter that everyone jumped and reflexively covered their ears.

The Romulan tried not to look impressed although he very much was. He might have a use for them after all. "Very well." He grudgingly complimented. "Return Starfleet to their ship, take these two, and kill everyone else."


	34. Chapter 34 Inferno

**Chapter 34- Inferno**

"I can't believe this!" Jim hissed as he made his way from the transporter room to the lifts with McCoy and Scotty jogging behind. "What the hell was he thinking?!"

"Which bloody idiot are ya' speakin' of, Sir? Spock, Peter, or the daft Klingon captain that thought it was better to off himself than to return without his hostage?" Scotty huffed as he kept pace.

"If it wasn't for the green blooded hobgoblin, every Klingon on that ship would have been slaughtered. I just can't believe he convinced them to trade." McCoy growled. "Stupid bastard."

"I'm not surprised that he talked them into it because if there is anyone they hate more than me, it is him. Spock I get, it's Peter that gives me a headache. I'm not looking forward to breaking the news to his brother." Jim grumbled.

"Aye, but he may look forward to breakin' your nose." Scotty laughed.

"I can only guess Peter has some kind of trick up his sleeve, he sure seemed convinced." McCoy panted trying to catch his breath. "Maybe he was reading their minds or something. He has to know something we don't."

"I just wish I could read his so I know what the hell is going on." Jim said shaking his head.

"So, what's the plan then, Captain?" Scotty inquired wiping some grease from his face with his sleeve.

"We go after them." Jim stated decisively. "Peter told them he would trade, but I didn't say we wouldn't try to get them back. Scotty, head down to the engine rooms and get the ship ready to race. Once we get them back, I want to be on the other side of the galaxy before the Romulans know it."

"Aye, Sir!" He replied with a gleam in his eyes. There was nothing Scotty loved more than a challenge and he knew from previous experience that the Romulans would give him a run for his money.

"Bones, stick with me. Once I tell our guests what happened, I might need your services." Jim half laughed. Scotty may have been right about Nathan and he wouldn't put it past Claire to try to claw his eyes out either. On the whole, they may not give a rat's ass about Sylar, but Peter was an entirely different business. As the lift doors closed to take them to the bridge, Jim resolved to get all three men back. No one man was worth more than another and there was nothing Jim hated more than losing a member of his crew, which as far as the Romulans were concerned Peter and Sylar were and that was more than enough of a reason.

* * *

Spock, Peter, and Sylar were chained at the wrists and ankles and led to the upper decks where they were whisked away to an awaiting Romulan ship after they were satisfied that their demands had been met and the crew had indeed been delivered safely to the Enterprise.

Sylar shuffled along the corridor while his chains made a slight chinking sound with each movement. His wrists itched where the metal cut into his flesh and it healed over and over again. He wanted nothing more than to use his telekinesis to pick the locks of the manacles and free himself, but he forced himself to play along and wait for some kind of clue from Peter as to what the big idea was. But as Peter was directly behind him, he couldn't very well keep glancing over his shoulder in anticipation without tipping off the guards, so he continued almost tripping forward because the chains allowed him so little room to move.

Spock quietly endured the humiliation of being paraded through the ship like a prisoner of war, although that was more or less what he was. He had no illusions about his fate: he knew very well that the Romulans would take great pleasure in making him suffer for destroying Nero and the Narada. He also knew the Romulans viewed the Vulcans as inferior and doubly so for him since he was a half-breed to them. Not human, not Vulcan, but something less than either. Although he could guess what kinds of torture he would likely endure, his suffering and possible death would have been the only logical solution in the face of many more deaths for the Klingon crew. He knew his future was dark, but he had faith that Jim would intervene. He just hoped that help would not come too late.

Unlike the Klingons, the Romulans did make a habit of taking prisoners so the ship was equipped with a brig. The conditions were almost as Spartan as the hastily made box Mendak was kept in, but at least the cells were a bit roomier and each man was placed in his own holding cell. After they were secured, there was a slight shift in the ship's gravity and that could only mean they had moved suddenly.

"Where are we going?" Sylar asked the Romulan that stood at the door of his cell with what he assumed was a large phaser. If the one Jim had hurt like the dickens, he couldn't imagine what being shot with that felt like.

"We have great plans for you." The bald man sneered. Although Sylar assumed the man was trying to be menacing, he was not impressed. For a fleeting moment he fantasized about using his telekinesis to open the cell and then cutting a permanent smile into his face before killing him.

"Don't do it, Sylar." Came Peter's voice from the cell to his left. "Not now." Sylar sat on the floor and endured the stupid alien's gaze, all the while disgusted at the dog and pony show he had been forced to perform in. If Bennet could see the cell they expected to contain him, he would have died laughing in their faces. It was almost an insult and if they believed him to be a god or mystic of some kind, he saw no harm in indulging them with a little show of power. "Patience." Peter laughed. Sylar was becoming irritated with having his mind read- it felt intrusive.

According to the internal clock that forever ticked away in Sylar's mind, they had only been traveling for approximately seven minutes when the ship's gravity again shifted and the guard ordered them to their feet. They were led off the ship onto a world that could only be compared to something straight out of Dante's Inferno. The sky was black, casting the nightmarish landscape in shifting shadows that were illuminated by intermittent bonfires. The hot and humid air was filled with a toxic smoke and the distant screams of people that couldn't be seen. They were pushed forward into this misery until they came before what they assumed was a Romulan wearing some kind of black protective suit that covered his features. He paused to look them over before finally saying, "Make peace with your gods now because you will never leave this place alive. Welcome to the pergium mines of Dhael."

Sylar didn't have a god to make peace with, but he glanced up at the blackened sky as if he did and a sense of dread filled him completely. "Peter," he whispered with an intensity that immediately caught the young man's attention, "look."

Peter also looked up and swallowed hard when all he could see was the bright ring of a sun blotted out by a neighboring celestial body.

* * *

Just as Scotty had predicted, Nathan had to be restrained from punching Jim square in the face when he heard that his little brother had been left behind and then kidnapped by the Romulans. Suddenly his opinion about Jim's abilities as a commander had changed and he was left wondering if anyone on the damn ship was actually qualified to run it.

"Let's think about this logically," Noah pleaded as he stood between a heaving Nathan and a somewhat pissed Jim, "Peter and Sylar suddenly volunteered to trade themselves to get you guys back on the ship and Spock went with them in order to save the Klingons. So, at least they are all together. I would be more worried if Peter and Sylar were on their own, mind reading and clairsentience would only get them so far. At least Spock can give them some guidance. He seems like a reasonable man who knows how to stay out of trouble, so that's a good thing."

"But why would Sylar of all people stay?" Matt asked perplexed. "I'll bet he will throw Peter to the wolves the first chance he gets."

"The whole thing was Peter's idea." McCoy refuted. "Sylar never said a word and it didn't look like he really wanted to stay, but he did."

"That's unlike him." Mohinder laughed. "To do something he didn't want to? I never thought it possible."

"Regardless if he wanted to or not, he did." Noah stated. "And that tells me that whatever Peter had planned, he bought into it. Now the question is, what did Peter have in mind?"

Hiro timidly raised his hand and waited to be called on as though he were in school. When Jim encouraged him to speak with an exasperated expression he said, "Peter is a good man. He would want to save everyone by using his abilities."

"He's probably right." Nathan grudgingly admitted. "That's all Pete ever wanted the minute he found out he could do things. It's what gets him in trouble every damn time. It was bad enough when he thought he could save the world, now he is trying to save the universe."

"He did save the world, "Ando said somewhat offended, "twice, remember?" Nathan started to argue with him, but thought better of it and just waved him off. He already stuck his foot in his mouth once over this, he wasn't about to make that mistake twice.

"Sir," Chekov called from his station, "the Romulans have disappeared from the radar. They may have cloaked or they may have varped away." Claire listened and looked over the mass of blinking lights and nonsensical star charts as if it could all magically tell her what that all meant. She didn't know what cloaking or warp was, but what she did know was that suddenly she had the feeling that Peter was now very far away- almost out of reach- and she didn't know if she should scream or cry.

"Finish transporting the refugees and see if you can trace any disturbances or locate their signals. They just can't disappear into thin air." He sighed.

"Peter can." Uhura hummed to herself as she listened for any stray signals from the Romulans that might give them a clue as to their whereabouts. Wherever he was, she hoped that Spock was with him and they would all return to the ship unharmed, but she had the distinct feeling that this time would be different.

* * *

Sylar swung his pickaxe with as much rage as he could muster. He didn't know what in the hell pergium was or why he had been placed on a chain gang to mine it deep in the pit of this god forsaken planet, but he found some solace in imagining he was bludgeoning Peter to death with each swing. He was chained next to a blue being the likes of which he had never seen before and another Klingon as well as a few other odd looking individuals. What was common to all was the presence of open sores and lesions and Sylar feared that without his healing ability he would soon look like them as his body accumulated heavy metal toxins from the mining process. He took another mighty swing and realized exactly how much he hated manual labor and how little of it he had done before now.

"Slow down, man." The blue person warned. "Save your energy. If you get tired, they will come and beat you for working too slow." He jerked his head in the direction of another guard covered in the protective suit that looked as though he wanted an excuse to use the nasty looking whip in his hand.

Sylar nodded at the blue man as the severity of the situation finally sunk in. He was in serious trouble and the guard could beat him and the lashes would stick- there was nothing he could do about it because he was once again a mortal. His wounds wouldn't instantaneously heal, he couldn't exact revenge, he couldn't even think about escaping. He glanced down the line at Peter who looked as miserable as he did and took another swing.

* * *

Spock had a far different fate on Dhael, one that he found predictable but still unpleasant. He had been strapped to a table in the main building of the complex. He assumed it was a science station judging by all of the flasks and vials that were strewn about the room and he further surmised that a nearby tray of sharp looking medical instruments were for him as it didn't look anything like a sickbay.

He knew what lie ahead and he knew how much the Romulans despised him which would only fuel their cruelty, but he was determined to face his fate without giving them any satisfaction in his suffering. He lay quietly on the table and concentrated on his breathing to mediate. He would, no matter what, endure this with a sense of calm and stoicism. He would not show fear even if he felt it, and he would ignore the pain as long as he could because that's what any self respecting Vulcan would do.

But even as he lay there, a small voice in the back of his mind questioned why the evolved humans had let him down. Why hadn't they used their powers to avoid the Romulans and get back to the ship? A small part of him blamed them for his circumstances. Although he tried to hide it, deep down he was very afraid of what was about to happen. It was the human side of him that cried for mercy and he couldn't help it.


	35. Chapter 35 Epiphany

**Chapter 35- Epiphany**

Nathan was exhausted. Throughout the past few days he had been on an emotional roller coaster that never seemed to end when all he wanted was to just get off and throw up. More and more he found himself wondering if it all was just the result of a bad taco or something, he found some relief in just believing it was all a dream. How was it possible that Peter had been in a coma? In the real world- the one he chose to believe in- that would never happen because his little brother was immortal, unable to be hurt and certainly not come that close to death. And as if he needed any more evidence that things were not as he knew them to be, Sylar's actions had defied all logic. It was unpredictable and unexpected- therefore it was impossible that the maniac killer would even entertain the idea of keeping his word or apparently staying with Peter to protect him from…whatever… because in Nathan's world he had already established that Peter didn't need anyone's protection but his from time to time. The only thing Peter really needed to be saved from was himself.

Claire watched Chekov's fingers fly over his console with expediency and it gave her some comfort to think that at least one other person was working hard to try to get them back. The look of intense concentration on his face made her hopeful that they would be found. For perhaps the first time since she had come aboard, she began to realize how vast and empty space was. The idea of space had previously been an abstract one, but now it seemed like an endless horizon in every direction. Infinity was a concept that she was having to come to terms with, both in her surroundings and the length of her lifespan. She glanced around the ship at the other worried faces- both of her own kind and the crew of the ship- and her heart sank a little when she thought about this only being a brief moment in her long life. One day all of these people would be gone. One day, Hiro, Jim, Matt, Uhura, Mohinder, all of them would die and leave nothing but memories and dust behind, yet she would remain to mourn them. If Peter and Sylar were never found, she would have to suffer it alone and she didn't know if she could. She would always know that they were out there somewhere, but the eternal separation threatened to crush her soul.

"Sir!" Chekov cried excitedly as he nearly jumped out of his seat. "I think I have found a trail, Sir! There is a recent disturbance from this location on a trajectory to the Romulan star system. Our maps of this area are incomplete, but the two planets of Romulus and Remus are listed." His blue eyes were wide with hope and perhaps just a bit of trepidation. He may have been young, but he was wise enough to know that charging headlong into Romulan territory uninvited was not going to be easy or pleasant.

"Makes sense." Jim shrugged. "Of course they would take them back to their home world- Spock as a prisoner and the others as prized possessions. Noah, what are the chances that Peter and Sylar could escape on their own?"

"Fairly good." He guessed. "That is if they work together, which is a _big_ if. Peter will probably try to escape quietly, but I could see Sylar slaying his way out. With his powers, the body count could be quite impressive."

"Do you think he would do that?" McCoy asked horrified, "Kill hundreds of people just because he can?"

"He already has." Nathan muttered miserably.

"And it isn't like the Romulans have any real defenses against them, either. It's not like you guys are susceptible to kryptonite or anything." Jim laughed. "Which leaves us with only one option: we have to follow that trail and get them back before they cause an intergalactic PR nightmare for us. Chekov- plot the course so Sulu can get us there posthaste. Let's just hope they can entertain the Senate with magic tricks until we get there."

* * *

Peter blinked his eyes as his pickaxe fell from his hands with a clatter. The rock wall before him swirled and danced in the most sickening way and it wasn't because of the flickering light from the torches that lit the dark and cold pit he was forced to work in. Maybe the pit wasn't cold- maybe it was just him that felt that way since the woman next to him was sweating and staring at him with fear in her eyes. He didn't know if he was dying, but he knew that without his powers the chances were exponentially higher.

"Why do you stop?" The guard behind him growled. "Did I tell you to quit working?"

Peter turned his head slightly as though he couldn't comprehend what the man had asked him. His thoughts along with his body were moving much too slow, this he knew and he could guess that the outcome would not be good but he simply couldn't force himself to go any faster. He was all out of strength and feeling very sick from breathing in the soot and mineral dust. His eyes went wide and he gasped in surprise and pain when the guard gave him a solid whack across the back with his whip. "Get moving!" He barked and Peter found himself reaching for his tool with shaking hands.

Down the line, Sylar watched the exchange with more than a passing interest as he kept chipping away at the rock. He found himself wanting to yell at Peter to just pretend he was working- anything to make the guard go away. Deep down he knew the guard took pleasure in the suffering of others- lording over his group of slaves and enjoying the power it gave him because that was a very familiar feeling. And he also knew that once he identified Peter as being weak, the bullying and harassment wouldn't stop until he was dead. He got the distinct impression that there would be no accountability for the death of a prisoner- no one would give a damn and Peter's lifeless body would be dragged out and tossed away like the piles of waste rock that were hauled out by the cart load from the mine. He sneered when the guard struck him and he watched Peter's face go pure white with shock. "Hey!" He yelled casually resting his tool against his shoulder. "Don't you know who we are?! I demand to speak to Mendak! We will not be treated this way!"

Everyone in the mine turned to look at him, even Peter who looked dazed. The guard slowly made his way to a defiant Sylar and demanded, "Explain yourself."

Sylar regarded the man behind the protective suit as though he could see through it. After a moment or so of glaring at him, he gave a contemptuous smirk. "We came as guests of Mendak and this is how you treat your gods?" He asked in a low voice. "Lucky for you we are patient and merciful or I would have cooked your brain in your skull and sucked it out your eye socket." He paused for a few seconds to let that unpleasant image settle in the Romulan's mind before adding, "Now release us and take us to Mendak before I get bored with you and have your brains for lunch." The guard had probably heard just about every excuse from prisoners as to why they should not be there, but this one took the cake and he began to wonder if they really did know Mendak. Sylar patted his stomach and said in a menacing growl, "Time is ticking and all of this work is making me very hungry." There was something in the man's dark eyes that made him go running off to verify his story.

Down the line, Peter gave Sylar a weak smile. His back stung and he felt like passing out, but at least he bought them some time. He leaned on his pickaxe like a crutch and wondered just how long the eclipse was going to last. As soon as he got his powers back, everything would be ok- he knew it would. It was just a matter of living long enough for the sun to come out again.

* * *

Hiro and Ando tried to hide their excitement as the ship raced across the vast expanse of space. It was like a boyhood dream for them to actually be in a space adventure. "How fast do you think warp speed is?" Ando asked with a giddy grin.

"I don't know." Hiro admitted as he pushed his glasses up. "But it can't be faster than the speed of light. Nothing travels faster than light and Einstein is never wrong."

"Never?" Ando laughed. "He couldn't tie his own shoes and you trust a guy who wears sandals to tell you how fast you can go?"

"Lots of brilliant people wear sandals, but that is beside the point. We are actually racing across space to another star system populated by aliens to save the world!"

"Who's world?" Ando chuckled. "Not ours, and Peter is hardly a damsel in distress- forget Sylar."

Hiro's smile fell and he muttered, "Yes, Peter. Ando, something must be wrong. Why didn't Peter just teleport back with Sylar and Spock? He has my ability now and he knows how to use it, so why doesn't he?"

Ando's smile also evaporated and he shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Hiro. But something must be keeping him from coming back. I wouldn't worry too much about Peter, he always finds a way, right?"

* * *

At least enough of Sylar's story checked out that they were removed from the chain gang and placed in a cell on the surface of the dark planet. Sylar craned his neck to peer up at the sky through the rusty blackened bars of the only window in the room. He could just see the rim of the eclipsed sun, a bright and shining ring against an otherwise black sky.

"Still nothing?" Peter asked letting his head fall against the rough hewn stone wall. Of course he knew the answer to his own question- he still felt horrible and none of his powers worked. As if to give a sarcastic answer, Sylar reached out his hand. Peter supposed that if his telekinesis worked, he would be choking to death- so, the answer must have been no. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I'm sorry for getting you into this mess. I had a plan, I really did and it would have worked except…" He gestured to the roof and let his hand fall in his lap in frustration.

As Sylar sat there and watched Peter stew in his own misery, he had something of an epiphany. Without his powers, the ever present and all consuming hunger he normally felt was gone. And with it, the intense cruelty he would have normally assaulted him with. But also gone was the nagging empathy Peter had accidently infused him with and all that was left was Gabriel- the long buried watchmaker. All that he was before the powers, before the murders, who he was as a person was sitting on the floor of the cell looking across the room at his former arch nemesis- but for the life of him he couldn't find a reason to hate him now. He didn't particularly feel sorry for him, but he didn't hate him either.

He hadn't been Gabriel for so long he felt kind of naked and vulnerable without his powers to protect him. He thought back to when he first came on the ship and he wanted to die because the thought of immortality was overwhelming. Now that he was again mortal, he longed for its protection once more. When people had powers as he did, he tended to see the world through very different eyes: actions had no real consequences- only inconvenient pauses. There was almost no situation that made him feel any real fear or apprehension because he knew he would live through it no matter what. Now that assurance was gone and he couldn't tip events in his favor. He had simply forgotten how to get by as a normal human being and he was a bit envious of Peter because he was much more practiced at living his life.

* * *

Spock stared at the ceiling of the lab, pondering if would be best to remain conscious or just give in to the urge to pass out. The tangy copper smell of his own blood made him feel nauseous as did the sticky sensation of it on his skin and clothing, but he tried hard to block it all out along with the stinging sensation of the many, many cuts the Romulan had inflicted. This was just a warm up and the worst was yet to come.

He tried every possible method available to him to escape, but he had been unsuccessful in his attempts. He tried to seek solace in meditation and the knowledge that his discomfort had saved the lives of the Klingon ship, but more often than not the pain would pierce its way through and bring him back to the present- the unsanitary lab. If the Romulans wanted to kill him, he understood and just wished they would get it over with already, but that was not their way. They were just as methodical as their Vulcan cousins and they could drag this out for days. He shifted as much as his restraints would allow and clenched his teeth when some of the wounds on his torso reopened with his movement, sending a fresh swell of green blood to be soaked up by his shirt.

Spock was nothing if not a realist. He knew the Romulans left his clothes on not out of a sense of modesty, but as yet another source of torture. The wounds would itch against the fabric and he would be unable to scratch them. His blood would form a scab interwoven with his shirt when it dried, giving them yet another way to inflict pain when they slowly peeled it off, tearing the scab away from the wound and reopening it yet again. One wouldn't normally think of a shirt as a torture device, but then again, most people weren't Romulans with a half Vulcan victim at their disposal.

As he lay there, he tried to calculate the probability of a successful rescue by Jim but he soon realized the error of his ways. Jim Kirk defied all laws of logic- both literally and figuratively so there was no reliable way to formulate it. He found this to be both infuriating and encouraging.


	36. Chapter 36 Morally Grey

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have picked up my long and rambling story! I promise I will wrap it up soon, but I wanted to thank Engelmohr2004 for pointing out a flaw in the tale: Mohinder does indeed have a power although in the story he says he doesn't. My mistake- I forgot that he did since I haven't seen him in so long. Unfortunately I will have to keep him as is, but he should be grateful because at least he has had more time in this story than he has in the show this season! Cheers!**

**Chapter 36- Morally Grey**

Although Mohinder thought what was going on up on the bridge was very important, he felt as though he were just in the way as he stood along the wall with Matt and the others. He voluntarily returned to his lab not because he didn't care, but precisely because he did care…perhaps a bit too much. He tried his best to hide it, but in truth he was terrified of the situation and he simply didn't want to watch the carnage live on a huge screen. So, rather than feel completely helpless as he knew he was, he chose to focus on the one thing he was good at: the genetic riddle he had been brought to work on.

As he looked over Sylar's films, he couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of remorse. Noah was right when he said it wasn't 100% Sylar that went down with Peter and the others and he began to wonder what life would be like without him should they never be found. He smirked as he remembered the road trip he took with him, or Zane Taylor as he knew him to be then. He was actually charming in an easy way and entirely likeable, but it was all an act. Still, there had been moments when Mohinder could see the vulnerability in him, the real man who just wanted to be special even though he already was but just couldn't see it. There was a certain insecurity that he tried very hard to hide which made it easy for him to distance himself from everyone…except Peter.

Mohinder never could figure out the exact nature of the relationship that existed between Sylar and Peter. One minute they were at each other's throats and the next they seemed to have some kind of uneasy alliance. It was like watching an old married couple and the thought of this made Mohinder laugh. They couldn't live with one another, but they couldn't seem to leave each other alone either. Peter's ability to tolerate Sylar was almost superhuman in it's own right, but it was definitely a two way street because Peter never stopped trying to extend his hand in an effort to make peace no matter how many times he was hurt or tricked. He never gave up and perhaps this was why Sylar regarded him with a bland disinterest. They had come a long way since the day they met in his apartment when Sylar tried to cut Peter's head open to get his powers, so it said a lot that he hadn't really tried since then although it would be like winning the lottery.

He sighed as he absentmindedly tapped the mysterious extra band on Sylar's X chromosome. Whatever the outcome of this venture, he had to keep working to unravel the conundrum that was the key to his abilities. Even if he was never found, Mohinder had all of the blueprints to his physiology including blood samples and DNA. They could clone him if worse came to worse because the cloning process would only create an exact physical replica of him- the personality would be formed by the environment so it was possible to have a less evil Sylar providing history didn't repeat itself. That was unless he really did have an evil gene…

* * *

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before quickly chugging the thin broth-like soup he and Sylar had been provided. As sustenance went it was probably just suitable, but it was anything but appealing with a smell like rotting garbage and a taste that approximated a rusty iron bar and sea water. Sylar glanced at his bowl suspiciously and watched Peter for any sign of poisoning. He was fairly certain that something that smelled that bad should not go in one's mouth regardless of the circumstance and he resolutely decided to starve to death if this was all they were going to get.

"Jesus!" Peter coughed as his eyes watered. He had to fight to keep it down and his stomach began to cramp from the salt content of the horrible broth, causing him to curl into a tight ball and take deep breaths like a fish out of water to keep from throwing up. He didn't know why the food in space was so bad- he hadn't had a satisfactory meal since he left Earth and he was starting to loose weight- as if he really needed to in the first place. He had endured enough nagging from his mother about how he was not eating enough as it was and how pale he always looked, but he would give anything for a plate of her homemade lasagna. Even the second rate spaghetti on the Enterprise would do. In the end he thought it best not to concentrate on food and think of something else- anything but the pain and nausea that threatened to outdo him. In a sick way, it reminded him of Mexico all over again and without his powers, it would have much the same result.

Sylar watched him writhe on the floor with a sense of conflicted empathy. On the one hand, he should have known better than to just suck down whatever was handed to him by their captors. After all, these people had them working in a mine like expendable common criminals, what would stop them from giving them substandard meals that may have even been detrimental to their health? But on the other, he really did look like he was suffering and despite his miscalculation in plans, he probably didn't deserve it. But in the end, there was nothing he could do for him. He couldn't conjure up a bottle of Maalox and giving him his potion surely wouldn't solve anything. Instead, he slowly crawled on all fours to Peter's side of the cell and quietly offered him what little water he had left. He was saving it for later because their ration delivery was unpredictable, but Peter had drank all of his and could probably use some more to dilute whatever was making him ill.

Peter smiled gratefully at Sylar and slowly sipped the water while he returned to the window to once more look up at the sky. As he looked at the burning ring of fire he rationalized his actions. It was not an act of mercy, it was the only logical thing to do. He had to keep Peter alive to get off this godforsaken rock the moment the eclipse ended…if it was ever going to.

Peter instantly felt better, but he felt it had little to do with the water. He hoped that the kind gesture meant that Sylar had forgiven him for what he had done or at the very least responded to an obvious humanitarian need- something he would have ignored before. Either possibility was encouraging and he hoped that this might be the start of something bigger- some transformational change that would take hold and alter the killer instinct that he had developed. But as he watched Sylar at the window eagerly awaiting the return of his powers, he realized that it might be asking a bit too much.

* * *

"Ve have reached Romulan airspace, Sir." Chekov announced over his shoulder.

"Great. Sulu, be prepared for evasive maneuvers if we are fired on. Scotty!" Jim yelled into his intercom on the arm of his chair.

"Aye, Captain!" Scotty replied in a cheerful tone that seemed a little inappropriate given the circumstances.

Jim smirked because he knew the engineer was just anticipating a challenge and he did love overcoming obstacles. "Scotty, I will need you to stand by the power controls. We may need to reroute power to the shields depending on how many ships they send out to greet us. We may also need to boost the transporters if we have a chance to snag them. I will take whatever I can get here. A win is a win, right?"

"Aye, it is Sir!" he confirmed.

"Jim," Noah called straightening his glasses, "is there anything we can do to help you? We are just as vested in this as you and we will do what it takes to get them back."

Jim swiveled in his chair to meet Noah's gaze. He had no doubts that he meant what he said and in a way he admired their moxy to go rushing headlong into a situation they knew little about, but to be honest the Federation didn't exactly have the Romulans completely mapped out themselves so it wasn't like he had all of the answers either. "That depends on how they respond." He answered thoughtfully taking in the determined expressions on the bridge. "I hope we can get this done diplomatically although I will admit that we are a bit hamstrung in that department at the moment."

"Why is that?" Claire asked apprehensively.

"Because Spock is usually the one that handles negotiations." Jim answered. "And with him missing that puts us a little behind the eight ball."

"I can help." Nathan declared rising to his feet. "If not this, than I am worthless. Believe me, you won't find anyone better at bull shitting than a US Senator- and one from New York at that. This is what I did for a living- making deals to get things done. I may not know a whole lot about these people, but maybe together we can negotiate for their release. It was me who got them into this whole mess to begin with, it should be me that gets them out."

There was something about the tone and certainty in Nathan's voice that made Jim want to stand up and salute, and it was at that moment that he realized what an asset he could be. Nathan's value thus far may have been questionable, but he did have one thing going for him: an undeniable cult of personality that made him a magnet for persuasion and that may just be what the crew needed. If he could work his charms on the Romulans, this may not be so bad after all. Jim nodded in approval and Nathan seemed filled with a new sense of purpose.

"Sir, I have completed the analysis of the star system. The first two planets are Romulus and Remus as indicated on the charts, but there are two additional planets in the system. If ve hide behind the furthest one, ve may go undetected and it vill give us time to gather intelligence." Chekov offered.

"Sounds good." Jim agreed. "Sulu, get us out there and begin scanning to see if we can pick up any of their signatures. Start with the uncharted ones first and save the known populated ones for last to avoid detection for as long as possible."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu nodded as he worked his station.

It seemed like mere seconds before they were in position and it wasn't much longer before information started pouring in at such a rate that Hiro and Ando couldn't help but be impressed. Technology was certainly far more advanced and that was saying something for the duo from the technology capital of the world in Tokyo.

"What do you have on scan?" Jim asked almost yawning. He was generally a man of action and deep down he wanted nothing more than to go in guns blazing, but he knew the slow and tedious intelligence gathering process was necessary to make informed decisions. He just hated the hurry up and wait pace that these types of missions entailed.

"The nearest planet is apparently uninhabited by plants or higher life forms and preliminary scans indicate the second may be a mining operation. I am getting high radioactivity readings. It is probably pergium, Sir."

"Well, we always knew that they had mining operations now we know where they get it from." He sighed. "Be sure to add it to the charts. Might as well have something to show to the brass if we have to come out here and explain what the hell we were doing. Anything interesting, Uhura?"

"Not yet, Sir." She reported shaking her head slowly. "I don't even think they know we are here."

"The light on the surface of the planet is limited, Captain, but I think I might be able to bounce a signal off the surface to scan for them. It looks like the mining planet is locked with the same side always facing the sun, but I might be able to reflect a signal of Romulus."

"Nah, too risky." Jim declared. "We might have a better chance if we peeked out from behind our fort for a quick scan. I am guessing they won't have that many defense systems on the mining outpost to detect us."

"Moving now, Captain." Sulu confirmed. The dark, barren rock that shielded them slowly gave way to a view of a dimly lit planet, bathed in the light of an eclipsed sun.

"No, no no." Noah moaned as he rubbed his temples in frustration.

"What?" Jim asked nervously. "What's wrong?" There was a sense of dread in Noah's voice that set off alarm bells- he never heard him so despondent before.

"That's why!" Ando declared. "That's why Peter never came back!"

Matt eyed the eclipse suspiciously and quickly tested his powers out on Uhura as she was the closest to him and was surprised to find that they still worked. "Guys!" he called excitedly, "I'm still good. I can still read minds. Maybe we are too far away."

"Or the planet is still protecting us." Nathan offered as he floated ever so slightly just to be sure his hadn't gone awry. "I'll bet if we move out a bit more we will all be powerless."

"Does anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?" Jim cried.

"During eclipses they lose their abilities." Noah sighed. "Which means Peter and Sylar likely are helpless if they are within the range of it."

"And they are." Chekov said quietly. "I have found them, Sir. Peter and Sylar are together and Mr. Spock is approximately 600 meters away. At least I think it is them, their signature is a little different."

"How long until the eclipse passes?" Sulu asked.

"Ummm…" Chekov hummed as he worked out the equation, "not for another twenty-seven hours."

"Alright." Jim declared with conviction, "As I see it, we have only one option: we move directly into the glare of the eclipse and hide in plain sight. If they see us, we try to negotiate. If not, we grab and go. It may not be the most honorable, but it gets the job done and they sure as hell have no problems with playing dirty so I don't really feel the need to take the high road either."

Noah chuckled and said, "I'm comfortable with morally grey."


	37. Chapter 37 Measure of a Man

**Chapter 37- Measure of a Man**

Mendak was pleased to be back with his father in his own lab and among his own kind again. He was certain he was going to die on the Klingon vessel, but he was saved by an unusual set of circumstances and he told his father and the Senate all about it in a hearing as soon as he was rested and fed- he hadn't done much of either in the week he was held captive.

As a man of science himself, he could understand the silent skepticism with which the members of the Senate regarded him when he told them about the man that could read his thoughts and the one that murdered the Klingon in such a brutal fashion it was quite impressive.

"And where are these extraordinary humans now?" His father asked casually as though he were asking him the whereabouts of his imaginary friend when he was a child.

Mendak tried to remain calm and objective because he knew what he witnessed no matter if he sounded crazy to them or not. But ultimately he had to make them believe him. "They are being held on Dhael with the rest of the prisoners. I thought it best to keep them there until we know what they are capable of."

His forethought apparently did not impress the members of the Senate. "And if they can do what you say," a woman on the panel coolly replied, "why should we take the risk of entering into a war with the Federation? They will no doubt demand their return and attempt to crush us if we refuse. Even if they are special, what good are they to us?"

Mendak resisted the urge to throttle her. He was running short on patience and the two of them had a long standing grudge ever since she attempted to scuttle his secret weapons project and cut funding for his lab. It was only his father's intervention that adverted that disaster. He gave a sarcastic smile and replied, "As you know, we are at war with the Klingons and we need every advantage we can gain to defeat them and any other race that threatens us. If we can force the humans into service or find a way to harness their power for ourselves we would be victorious. Just think of the practical implications: if we can use the powers of the man who can read thoughts, we can know the intent and plans of our enemies and be prepared to defeat them. With the capabilities of the one that can move objects with his mysterious force, we can kill from afar with absolute precision." He paused for dramatic effect and sat back in his seat with a triumphant gleam in his eye. "Wouldn't that be worth the risk?"

"Perhaps." Another Senator answered. "But what makes you think the humans will cooperate either willingly or otherwise?"

"They will." Mendak promised. "And if they won't, we kill them. We can't let the Federation get them back so they can benefit from their gifts. As insurance, I brought a present for you." He smiled wickedly. "My capture turned out to be most fruitful. The humans are members of Starfleet and none other than Spock from the Enterprise bartered for the safety of the Klingons. He is also on Dhael and it is my intent to use him to force the humans into compliance."

"You have captured the Vulcan Spock?" His father asked amazed. He couldn't be more proud of his only son. While he was worried he would have to defend his family name behind closed doors or plead insanity due to his son's capture for his delusions, he now looked down on him with admiration and Mendak basked in the glory of it all.

"_Half_ Vulcan," He reminded them, "Yes, I have. He is being…persuaded to cooperate as we speak." The innuendo was not lost on the members of the Senate and truth be told each one wanted a piece of the action. There was much hatred for Spock among the inhabitants of Romulus- both because of what he did and the very fact that he carried the blood of Vulcans in his veins no matter the amount.

"This is great news and we must let the population know of your success." A member of the panel said enthusiastically. He was new to the Senate and was working very hard to secure his father's influence and Mendak knew this, but he appreciated the honor all the same even if it was disingenuous. "A prisoner of war returns with an infamously murderous Vulcan! The people will love you!"

Mendak gave a small demurring nod and quietly stated, "I am undeserving of such a spectacle, but if you must let the populace know of Spock's capture I ask that nothing be mentioned about the humans. They are something of a matter of national security and I think it is best we keep them a secret."

"Agreed." His father stated with authority. He didn't concur necessarily because of the security implications so much as he couldn't imagine how the general population would respond to the idea of magic humans. "We will hold a state dinner tonight in your honor. We appreciate your service and sacrifice for all Romulans."

Mendak returned to his lab with a smile on his tattooed face. With this one turn of events he would forever be a hero in the eyes of his people and all but lock up a place of honor and status for the rest of his life. All in all he had to say that being held captive by the Klingons in a rusty, sweltering hot box was well worth it. Tonight he would become a household name and he wondered if it would be enough to assure his succession to his father's seat as the Head of the Senate. He chuckled as he imagined having his own line of courtiers lapping at his heels just as the new Senator did in his veiled attempt to curry favor.

* * *

On the barren prison planet, Gabriel watched Peter nap fitfully in the corner of the cell. He imagined he fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion from the cramps that had finally subsided, although his arms were still wrapped loosely around his abdomen even as he slept. He was beginning to worry when in his sleep, Peter would twitch and mumble incoherently as though he were delirious. Most of what he said was unintelligible, but he did make out "Mexico" and what he thought sounded like "sick" but it could have been any number of things.

He rested his head against the rough stone wall and looked out the window at the pervasive darkness and noted the tense pain that began forming in his shoulders and back from swinging his pickaxe with a little too much vigor. He was furious with Peter then for trapping them in this mess, but honestly how could he have known that there was going to be a perpetual eclipse that would rob them of their powers? What were the chances? They were astronomical in his opinion and he couldn't find it in himself to be angry with the paramedic anymore. It was rotten luck and nothing more.

He glanced at Peter as he lay sleeping again and wondered what it would be like to be friends with him. Suddenly it didn't seem so impossible that they could find something in common. Without powers, they were just two normal guys and he began to wonder what it would be like to have a friend at all since he had never been one or even had one that he could remember. What would they do together? Would they watch football on Sundays or fix cars together? The more he thought about it, the more remote the whole idea seemed. He couldn't think of one thing that he and Peter would enjoy doing together. All they shared was abilities but the two had very different opinions on how they should be used. At least for once on this occasion they could probably agree that they should be used to escape if they ever got them back.

A guard passed slowly by the cell and Gabriel tensed slightly. He hated feeling helpless and that was exactly what he was without his abilities. If the guard got it in his head that he wanted to beat the hell out of them with his baton, there was little he could do about it since it was painfully obvious that he was not skilled at fighting by the number of times Peter had pummeled him when it came down to hand to hand combat. The guard passed without incident and Gabriel relaxed somewhat but remained on guard. The best thing he could do was fake it until he made it- make everyone around him believe he was still powerful and to be feared in the hopes he could stall until the eclipse was over. His IA may have been gone, but he was still an intelligent person who could read people well enough to manipulate them and that was just what he was going to do if it meant keeping he and Peter safe.

Peter mumbled and rolled over onto his other side facing the wall. In transit, his shirt slipped up revealing long, angry red welts under his blue shirt where the whip had left its mark and Gabriel felt sick. It was a visual reminder of just how serious this was, but it also reminded him that he was successful at bluffing to get them out- he just had to keep it up.

He was tired himself, but he thought it best if one of them remain awake so he forced the urge to sleep from his mind by constantly fidgeting to send sharp spikes of pain from his sore muscles when he felt his eyes grow heavy with fatigue. It was an intriguing experience for him since prolonged pain was not something he had experienced since taking Claire's ability. The novelty alone was almost enough to keep him awake- along with the vague feeling that he was doing Peter a small favor by letting him sleep while he kept watch, but he would never admit to that once he got out of the hellhole he was in and he would if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

Jim sat tensely in his chair intermittently chewing his bottom lip as was his habit when he was nervous. He was sitting in Romulan airspace like a duck without authorization or notification from either Starfleet or the Romulans which was going to be a bitch to explain to the brass. He had a ship full of Klingon refugees fearful that he had tricked them and demanding to go home, his first officer was in mortal peril and two superpowered humans that no one knew about were being held against their will and he had to get them back. As he sat there waiting on results from more scans on the feasibility of a grab n' go from Chekov, he contemplated how he was going to spin this all to Starfleet without betraying his guests and not causing an intergalactic incident. He had to say, he may have actually outdone himself with this mess.

"I do not think it will vork, Sir." Chekov reported shaking his head. "The radiation levels from the mines are causing too much interference."

"Well we have to do something!" McCoy growled. "We can't just leave them down there to fry. The longer we wait, the more cellular damage will be done and after a certain point there won't be much I can do."

"I know, Bones." Jim sighed. "I don't like it either, but we have to be smart about this. Looks like we will have to open negotiations. Uhura, contact the Senate and request a meeting. Nathan, I hope you are ready to brush off your skills, we will need every ounce we can get to try to talk them into giving them back- Spock included."

Nathan stood up straight and tall and nodded with determination. "I'm ready. Like Noah, I am also comfortable with morally grey- believe me I have lived most of my life mired in questionable transactions. I'm already going to Hell, what's one more transgression?"

Jim smirked and knew the feeling. He was all in now and there was no going back. He motioned for Nathan to follow him to the conference room to give him a crash course on Romulans. As soon as he turned to close the door, Nathan wrapped his hand in a vice like grip and shook it vigorously, surprising the hell out of him.

"Thanks for trusting me, Jim." Nathan smiled. But unlike all of the other times he smiled out of a sense of nervousness or necessity, this time it was genuine. "I know I don't exactly have the confidence of all of my people and I can't blame them, but I really can be a help here. I know you want Spock back and I sure as hell want Pete back."

"What about Sylar?" Jim asked half laughing.

Nathan wasn't laughing. "As far as I am concerned, he can rot down there for all of the things he has done and if it comes down to it, he is expendable. He can be left for dead and I can guarantee you that not one person on this ship will look back."

Jim sat in his chair a little stunned at the seriousness in the other man's voice. He said he didn't give a rat's ass and he meant it. Jim had never written anyone off like that in his life- even those that may have deserved it and there were plenty that fit that category. He understood that Sylar was a bad man who freaked him right the hell out, but did it mean he deserved to be left behind if it meant getting Spock and Peter? Jim was without a doubt and win-win kind of a guy and this went against all he stood or and believed in, but looking into Nathan's eyes, he saw the political shark- cold and calculating and he knew he was the only real chance they had. For all he knew, Sylar's demise would be a win for the other evolved humans.


	38. Chapter 38 Know Your Enemy

**A/N: A little post-Valentines Day love for you. Here's 2 chapters back to back. Cheers!**

**Chapter 38- Know Your Enemy**

Mass chaos were the only words that came to Jim's mind when he, Nathan, and McCoy beamed down to the surface of Romulan to start negotiations with the Senate. Everywhere he looked there were Romulans in the streets chanting and yelling exuberantly like a bunch of soccer hooligans. Small fires had been started here and there and some carried signs.

"Holy shit." McCoy muttered when he noticed the face of Spock plastered on one of them. He probably should have been more professional since he was in uniform and representing Starfleet and the Federation in these talks, but this was a good old fashioned lynch mob as far as he was concerned and it didn't sit well.

Nathan had never really been involved in full blown civil unrest, but it was something that the lawmakers that ran the country feared. They knew that sooner or later their largess received from lobbyists and special interest groups would come to light and what they most feared was the rising up of the populace when it became clear that they had been sold out in exchange for a house in the Hamptons for a favorable vote on an issue that was clearly not in the interest of the people they were sent to represent. The closest he had personally come to this was being in his office when some nutjob potato farmer brought a sawed off shotgun to the Capitol building and fired a few rounds over lost subsidies in an agriculture bill. Luckily there weren't many farmers in New York City, so he sat that one out and for once could honestly say he had nothing to do with it. It was all in knowing who your constituents were.

"Captain Kirk." Came a voice from among the crowd. Jim turned to see an older Romulan male dressed in robes that looked fairly official. "I am Koval, Head of the Romulan Senate. I am afraid you have chosen an unusual moment for your visit, we are not usually so excitable."

"I see." Jim nodded trying to ignore pictures of his bloodied friend's face paraded around as though they had his actual head on a stick. If anything, in the pictures he remained stoic and perhaps just a bit defiant and that made Jim feel a little better. He was still being his obstinate self, a virtual Vulcan middle finger if there ever was one, and he missed having that on the bridge.

As they made their way through the throng to the Senate building, Nathan levitated just a bit in the absence of the eclipse that was going on in other parts of the star system and he thought of Peter and how flying was one of his favorite abilities. He wasn't sure of it was because he liked the freedom it gave him or because he had taken it from the brother who he loved and looked up to, but he was determined to save him this time no matter what it took.

* * *

When Peter woke up he felt better than he had in awhile, although that wasn't saying much. At least he was rested and he had learned his lesson: no more broth. He turned his head when he heard the faint sound of metal scraping against metal and he sat up and blinked when he saw Sylar crouched by the lock on the cell door. His back was obscuring what he was doing, but Peter didn't need to be a genius to know that he was attempting to pick the lock.

"What are you doing, man?" Peter hissed in his ear after crossing the room in a few short bounds. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"No." He calmly replied as his hands continued with the fine motor skills needed for just such a task. "I am trying to get us out of here."

Peter couldn't deny he was impressed with the due care and gentleness with which Sylar manipulated the pin he had fashioned out of what looked like a bit of wire broken off from the bowl that had contained their so called food. As he watched him work, he imagined him meticulously repairing the gears and springs in watches and wondered if that was what it looked like when he was digging around in his brain. No matter how mesmerizing, he couldn't bear the thought of it. "Hey, um…" He stammered as he tried to shake the mental image from his head, "if you lost your ability, how are you doing this?"

"I was smart before I had powers, Peter." He replied in a bored tone as he concentrated on getting the lock to spring. "My IA only really helps in novel situations and this is not novel. I have picked locks before. Structurally they are all similar, so it is only a matter of working your way past the tumblers."

Peter chuckled in amusement. "You have picked locks before? How many are we talking? More importantly, why were you picking them in the first place?" He had to admit he knew next to nothing about his nemesis, and he imagined him to be an accomplished jewel thief when he wasn't killing people.

Gabriel sighed and muttered, "I'll send you my resume when we get out if you are so worried about my qualifications."

Peter instantly knew he made a mistake. "I'm sorry, man." He said in a low voice. "You're right. At least you were working on solving the problem while I was sleeping."

Gabriel glanced back at him and shook his head slowly. "It was probably better that way. You would be useless if you were dead on your feet." Peter smirked and accepted his forgiveness. "If you must know," he continued as he worked, "clock cases that were made after around 1847 went from using a skeleton key to an actual lock. People would always bring in these old clocks for me to fix that they found in their grandma's attic or at a garage sale- without the key of course."

"So you had to pick them to get the case open to fix it." Peter nodded. Not nearly as glamorous as a jewel thief, but an honest answer nonetheless. "Someone's coming!" He hissed as he tried to push Sylar out of the way so he wouldn't get caught.

A guard slowly stalked by and stopped in front of the cage that the supposedly magic humans were being held in. he had to keep an extra close eye on them to prevent their escape, but so far they were even more pathetic than Vulcans and he saw nothing special about them. He contemptuously reached through the bars and grabbed a handful of red shirt and slammed the man's face against the bars with a resounding thud that gave him deep satisfaction- especially when red blood dripped from a cut above his dark eye. He chuckled and kept walking, almost daring them to strike him down- it would have actually been a favor since he couldn't seem to get off his post at the damn mining colony any other way but to die. But the fact that they didn't was at the same time a source of disappointment and confirmation that they were in no way special.

"Jesus!" Peter exclaimed turning Sylar to face him so he could examine the wound. He couldn't help it, it was the paramedic in him to respond to injury and his actions were so reflexive he didn't even have to think about what to do. "Sit down, let me have a look." He instructed and to his amazement, he complied. "It doesn't look too bad. Head wounds bleed like nothing else, but I don't think you will need stitches." He confirmed as he tore a swath of cloth from the hem of his shirt to make a bandage with. It wasn't the most sterile, but it would have to do.

Gabriel winced when Peter held the makeshift bandage with a good amount of pressure against the wound to stop the bleeding. "That's good," he replied, "we don't have any needles or thread."

"Something tells me that between us we could figure it out." Peter smiled. Once again he felt the need to form an alliance with his patient and unlike the female Klingon, this time he would give in because it could only help them down the road if they were a team. While he couldn't pick locks, he was good at other things that could be helpful and this was certainly one of them. "You know, I can't help but think it's funny that the reason we were chosen to go on this mission was the fact that I had medical training and you were already good at engineering. Looks like despite not having powers, our natural talents are still useful."

"I would rather have my abilities back." Gabriel said spitefully, "But in the absence of them, I will have to use what I have." As soon as Peter removed the bandage and the blood had congealed to his satisfaction to seal the wound and prevent infection, Gabriel set back to work in his attempt to pick the lock with a renewed sense of determination.

What he didn't tell Peter was that no matter how hard or fast he worked, it wouldn't matter if his painting was correct and he was starting to see how it could all come about. The eclipse wouldn't end before tragedy struck and although he knew there was no fighting the future, he had to try. Maybe Spock was right- maybe if he could keep his eyes open and watch for clues he could avoid the massacre that remained on the wall in his room.

* * *

Mohinder had a problem on his hands- a very big one in terms of scientific rigor. In studying the keryotypes, he noticed a small discrepancy that could only mean one of two things: either Sylar was secretly a hermaphrodite or the sample had become contaminated by the female tech that processed the gels and he would rather think the answer was the latter. He would like to think that if it were the former, Dr. McCoy might have whispered his discovery into his ear as a fellow doctor following his physical exam of the killer. In fact, he was fairly certain that the cranky doctor would have let it slip sooner or later and the fact that he hadn't probably meant that the sample was contaminated.

He sat in his lab for the longest time pondering what he should do. Separating the male from female signatures would be easy enough, but what of the rest of the sample? What about the mysterious extra band on the X chromosome? He could no longer say for certain that it belonged to Sylar and although he felt like crying, he knew deep down that the only ethical thing to do was to throw the entire sample away and start all over. But with Sylar off the ship and his return uncertain, it was going to be difficult to find any of his DNA. As he paced his lab, he ran his fingers through his curly dark hair and it came to him- he could search Sylar's room for samples in the form of hair that may have fallen out as he washed it or combed it!

He raced to Sylar's room, trying to act normally when others approached so as not to give away his undercover plan and unbelievably convinced a passing security guard to open the door for him in the name of medical expediency when he couldn't begin to guess what a serial killer would use for a pass code. Would he have used his birthday? The number of victims he has killed? The possibilities were endless.

He entered the room and headed straight for the bathroom to look for stray hairs, but was exasperated to find nothing- not even so much as an eyelash. He knew that Sylar took particular care with his appearance and his eyebrows alone would be a time consuming maintenance task, but he didn't imagine he would be an obsessive cleaner as well. But come to think of it, the few times he had been in his apartment he did clean up after himself rather well- unlike Matt.

The last place that he could possibly find what he wanted was his pillow. Surely a few stands would have come loose in his sleep. He bent over the neatly made bed and inspected the pillow with a squint, but alas, he found nothing and it frustrated the hell out of him. It was almost as if he could hear Sylar laughing at him from….wherever he was. He stood up and sighed, but his eyes grew wide when he noticed the painting on the wall opposite the bed.

Mohinder knew exactly what he was looking at. How could he forget being drug across the city by Peter while he tried to convince him that he knew a guy that could paint the future so long ago? What was his name….Isaac? It seemed rude considering he had taken over the dead man's loft for use as a lab, the least he could do was remember his name. Over the course of the space's use he had come to know every detail of the painting that covered the floor of New York exploding before Peter changed it to Washington.

As he took in the image of Sylar holding a badly injured Peter and Spock laying bleeding along with others he knew immediately that things would end badly. He dashed out of the room as fast as he could go- he had to find Noah and warn the away team of what was about to happen.


	39. Chapter 39 The Truth Hurts

**Chapter 39- The Truth Hurts**

The cut on Gabriel's head throbbed and ached as he bent over the lock working furiously at trying to get it to open. It certainly was an obstinate barrier to his freedom and because it was taking so long, it had transformed from a simple task to a personal mission because it was now an affront to his intelligence and he wasn't about to be outsmarted by a mechanism made of metal. As he gently but persistently used the pick he had fashioned to worm his way past the tumblers, he couldn't help but think about how much easier it would all be if he just had his powers. If he had his telekinesis, he could easily spring the lock- or just rip the whole door out of the wall if that was what it took. But he didn't and this was going to be his only way out.

Peter looked down at his tattered shirt and counted it a small victory that Sylar allowed him to touch him at all- even if he was bleeding. That combined with the strange change in behavior made him wonder exactly what influence their powers had over them. It was plain that Sylar's made him a twisted shadow of the man he used to be and Peter had succumbed to that very impulse himself for the brief time that he had his ability. Even though he tried hard not to let it affect him, he found himself breaking Syalr's neck and trying to cut his own mother's skull open in frighteningly short order. When he thought about it, it really was amazing that Sylar didn't kill more often than he did. It spoke to the amount of control that he had over the darkness, but even he couldn't completely suppress it and it made him the cold killer that he was.

What did his own powers do to him? He couldn't say they hadn't changed him at all- he was significantly different from the young hospice nurse that just wanted to help people a few short years ago. He was a little older and he hoped wiser, but even he couldn't deny that after all he had witnessed he had become a little more cynical and jaded. All of the lies and deceit that his mother had engaged in to run the company- along with Noah and even Nathan's own unwitting compliance made him wonder if he could really trust anyone. It was something he hated thinking about, but it was always in the back of his mind: meeting the future version of himself. That man was so angry and resigned to the fate of the world, Peter couldn't believe that was who he was destined to become and he fought it with everything in him. He didn't want to be that man, but he could feel himself sliding in that direction incrementally as though it were simply the force of gravity.

He was ripped from his thoughts when he heard the unmistakable sound of freedom: a small but resounding "clink" when the lock disengaged. Gabriel suppressed a self-satisfied smile as he scanned the hall for guards and couldn't believe his luck when he saw no one. "Great job!" Peter exclaimed with a beaming smile. It wasn't that he didn't believe that Sylar could do it, it was the finality of having a wide open door to walk through that filled him with joy.

The two men slowly crept down the dark hallway, keeping their backs to the wall and pausing at every sound to avoid detection. On the way in, Gabriel made it a point to memorize every twist and turn so he could find his way out again should the opportunity present itself. Peter had done the same, but he was happy to let Sylar lead- it only seemed right since he was the one that got them out in the first place. He did wonder as he silently tread behind the infamous killer if later down the road this would be used against him as evidence for his indecision, but for the moment he was fine with the status quo.

"Sylar," He whispered quietly, "Where do you think Spock is? We can't leave without him."

"How the hell should I know?" Gabriel shrugged exasperated. "We haven't seen him since we got here. He may be cooperating with them for all we know."

"He wouldn't do that!" Peter hissed. "He wouldn't just give up on us like that."

"Really?" Gabriel asked arching his eyebrow. "Do you know him that well? Let's face it, Peter, we have been left for dead. The rest of the ship hasn't even come for him- or maybe they did and they are long gone by now. No one has come for us and if I were him, I would negotiate for my own hide and I am going to assume that is what he did until I see evidence to the contrary."

"Why do you always think so negatively of people? You know there are those of us who do take honor and integrity seriously." Peter protested.

"You mean besides you?" Gabriel asked rhetorically. "No, I don't believe it and you can hardly count yourself among that group these days." He gave his partner a hard look to drive home the point that he hadn't forgotten about being double crossed.

The pained look on Peter's face was a little more than Gabriel was expecting. "I know I let you down," he said remorsefully, "but we all know what you would have done with the ability to time travel and I couldn't let that happen. I know I disappointed you, but it was for the greater good of humanity. Some things are just bigger than you or me."

Gabriel didn't know what to say to that because Peter did seem to regret the fact that he cheated him. And of course he was absolutely right about his intentions, but what he couldn't have anticipated was the desire to go back and correct the one mistake that he couldn't live with- the one victim that was truly innocent and the one and only person who loved him no matter what. Even if she knew her precious Gabriel was a killer, she could still find a way to love him and he missed that. He had once known unconditional love and only after he lost it did he realize what he had. After he fixed that, he had only one other mission in mind- to meet his real mother so he could find out what powers she may have had and to see her face so he could remember something other than the dead expression that was seared into his young mind. He would never tell her that he was her son from the future because he didn't want her to know that she had given birth to a monster. Undoubtedly she had high hopes and vast dreams for him as any parent would for their child and although he didn't remember much about her, he had the distinct impression that he was something special in her eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of her knowing that her little boy would grow up to be just like his father- but exponentially more powerful.

But none of it mattered now because Peter had decided that teleportation was too dangerous for him to have and he was probably right. If his biological mother turned out to be anything less than saintly- and what human could live up to those standards- or the woman he grew up believing was his mother rejected him when she found out that besides having abilities he was also a murderer with an incredibly high body count, that would be the end of his world and he would no doubt destroy them all by setting the world on fire just as Isaac predicted he would.

* * *

Nathan sat at the negotiation table wearing his best politician smile while outside the crowds chanted and whipped themselves into a frenzy. Koval sat across from him eyeing him skeptically. "So am I to understand that you are requesting the return of Spock and the prisoners?"

"That's right." Nathan smiled confidently. There was much to be said about projecting an illusion of certainty. In his experience at least 50% of a negotiation was bluffing and it was something he was exceedingly good at. The other half was dealing in half-truths which he was equally skilled in.

Koval gave a light, incredulous laugh. "And what do you offer in exchange for this?" The audacity of the human amused him to no end.

"Safety." Nathan replied with a serious nod. "I don't think you know what your special prisoners are capable of." He leaned in close to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Either one can destroy the entire planet out there, and together imagine the possibilities of what they could do. They have only been playing along so far. When they get sick of it, they will retaliate and believe me, you are not capable of containing them. Your people have no hope against them and don't think that you are safe because you are far away. They are not constrained by the conventional concepts of time and space. You have never dealt with anything like them before and if you think that you can just tie them up and that will be the end of it, you are in for a very rude awakening."

Koval listened intently, not letting on that he was intimidated. He was a lifelong politician and he knew how the game was played. "They have not given any indication that they are dangerous and they came of their own free will through a bargain that I believe Captain Kirk was witness to."

Jim shifted slightly in his seat. He knew this would come up and by all rights the Romulans had a point. They weren't really captives in the truest sense. "We did allow them to go," he started slowly, "but he is right that they can be very dangerous. I have seen only some of what they can do and if they want to kill all of your men they will and there won't be any stopping them."

"It is in your own best interest if you let them go," Nathan added, "because if they have to fight their way out I can guarantee it won't be pretty." He imagined this to be true more of Sylar than Peter, but he also knew that Peter could be an impressive fighter if his back was to the wall. "Of course we are willing to make an exchange. If I were a betting man I would wager that you are keeping them with the hopes of exploiting their abilities."

"What makes you say that?" Koval asked with only a hint of a smile.

Nathan smirked back. "What other use could you possibly have for them? Besides, the government I worked for had the same goal which is how I know that your plan won't work. You have no means of stopping them, but I know how to. I understand that you have to give a little to get- that is the nature of negotiations. Spock is very important to you as a prisoner and Sylar is important to us as the most powerful evolved human so here is my proposal: give us Spock and Peter and we will leave Sylar here for you to experiment on. I will show you how to contain him so he is no danger. It's a little like catching a fly with chopsticks, but it can be done."

McCoy shot him a stunned sideways glance as did Jim.

* * *

Noah sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as the rest of those assembled looked at the painting on the wall in Sylar's room in quiet contemplation. "I wonder how long ago he painted this?" Claire asked out loud as if anyone had an answer.

"If we knew, we could have stopped it." Ando replied. "We could have done…something!" he was exasperated by a total lack of control over the situation.

"If he knew, vhy didn't he tell anyone?" Chekov asked.

"Because he's Sylar!" Matt grumbled. "God doesn't even know why he does what he does and you expect us mortals to figure it out?"

"Alright, everybody." Noah exclaimed putting his glasses back on. Someone had to get control of the situation. "Looking back and asking why won't help us right now. What we need to do is figure out how to go forward now that we know."

"I could try to get them." Hiro offered. "Maybe I can stop it before it happens."

Uhura couldn't take her eyes off the image of a bleeding Spock but said, "If the eclipse has taken away their powers, won't you be affected too if you go? You will be trapped like them."

"She's right." Ando consoled his friend by patting him on the shoulder. He knew Hiro wanted nothing more than to help, but this wasn't his opportunity.

"The only thing ve can do is send another away team to try to get them, but that may interfere vith the negotiations if they find out and then the Captain and the others vill be in danger." Chekov offered.

"Scotty is the acting Captain," Noah reminded, "It should be his decision as to what we do, but I will volunteer to be on the next team that goes down. I've seen worse, believe me."


	40. Chapter 40 Persistence

**Chapter 40- Persistence**

"Shite." Scotty mumbled under his breath after Chekov reported what the tour group found in Sylar's room and Noah explained what it actually meant. Some days he wished he could be at liberty to just be piss drunk on scotch laying in a field somewhere in the Highlands rather than deal with something like this. Situations like the one he currently found himself in was the exact reason he preferred to stay in the bowels of the ship. Despite the possibility of a catastrophic atomic failure of the warp core drive, it somehow just seemed safer down there. No matter his preferences, he was the Captain and it was now up to him to decide the fate of the crew. He sighed and held his head in his hands. "Do any of the lot of ya have anything that just might be of use to me right now?"

"Such as?" Mohinder prompted. He didn't expect to hear reading genetic sequences among the list of emergent needs, but one could never know for sure.

"I dunno- reading crystal balls…or tea leaves…or mind control…"

"Um.." Matt tentatively spoke up, "I can do the mind control thing- sorta."

"Aye!" Scotty perked up. "I don't suppose you can just convince them to give up?"

"Well, if I was close to them." He admitted. "But the whole eclipse thing kinda makes that an impossibility."

"Not on Romulus." Sulu refuted turning in his seat to face the group. "If we could get you down there, could you convince the Romulans to just release them? The eclipse is only affecting the mining outpost right now."

"Da!" Chekov chimed in excitedly. "Then ve can just pick them up vithout starting a war. But you vill have to hurry because the orbit vill bring Romulus directly in the path of the eclipse in approximately two hours." He confirmed checking his charts.

"I don't have to wear one of those ridiculous shirts do I?" Matt asked apprehensively. While the form fitting fabric made the athletic crew look great, his softer body wouldn't look so hot- of that he was certain.

"Ya can go naked if ya like, as long as ya get the bloody job done!" Scotty smiled.

Noah chuckled and said, "I was going to volunteer to go as well, but now…" He shook his head as he looked Matt up and down.

"Likewise," Mohinder agreed gesturing vaguely to the elevators, "I have something….very…desperately important to attend to."

"Alright guys, go ahead and have your laugh." Matt grumbled putting his hands on his hips. "But who's the only one who can actually help here?"

"Well, I cannae let the two of ya you go alone. Chekov, get your gear and get movin'. Ah am countin' on ya to keep them safe down there."

Surprised by the invitation and serious responsibility, he jumped to his feet, saluted, and stumbled to the elevators all in one move. "Aye, Sir!" He smiled. "I vill not fail you!"

"What…?" Sulu asked perplexed looking after his friend. "Why does he get to go? I outrank him!"

Scotty sighed and wondered if they bickered like this when Jim made assignments. "And once more, Ah outrank you now quit your bitchin'. Ah need someone to fly the damn ship and Ah don't think we will get lost without him in the time bein'."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu quietly replied as he turned back to his controls. He didn't mean to sound petulant and really it was a little inappropriate to question his superior at a time like this. He was slightly embarrassed over the whole thing, but he squarely blamed himself.

* * *

Peter weighed his options as he followed Sylar through the twisting maze of hallways. He made it a point to stop at every door and peek in to see if Spock was inside. Sylar grew evermore irritated every time he did it, but Peter didn't care. "I'm telling you, it's not right to just leave him here." He insisted when Sylar scowled at him. "Besides, we need him. We don't know anything about these people or what their capabilities are."

"They don't know ours either." Gabriel reminded him.

"Which is exactly what?" Peter asked sarcastically. "Right now, it doesn't amount to shit because we can't do anything! I can make a quarter appear behind their pointed ear, but I don't think they would be too impressed with that."

Gabriel almost let out an involuntary laugh because it was the first time he ever remembered hearing Peter swear- even mildly- and he found it funny that the Boy Scout would stoop to such low standards. It just seemed so wrong. "The eclipse won't last forever and when it passes we will have our powers back."

Peter paused and asked in a serious tone, "What happens if we don't? Maybe the rules out in space are different or maybe this time it won't work. Then what?"

"There is no reason to believe we won't." He replied in a low tone. The fact was he simply couldn't fathom life without abilities. He couldn't stand just being Gabriel Gray- not after all the power he once held to get whatever his heart desired. Maybe Peter could find a life being normal but he couldn't- not after all the things that Sylar had done and all of the people looking to punish him for his crimes. But it was a little more than that- if their powers never came back it meant they were all trapped far in the future in space. There would be no going back- something he had just taken for granted would happen sooner or later in one way or another.

"Sylar!" Peter hissed as he grabbed the taller man's shoulder and squeezed harder than he meant to. "It's him!"

Gabriel held his breath as he peered through the small window of the door to see Spock bound to a table in what looked like a lab, covered in a green liquid he assumed was his blood if what he said about the painting was true. His stomach sank as yet another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"We have to get him." Peter insisted.

"And do what?" Gabriel asked. "Just walk in there and ask the guard nicely to let him go? Peter, we can't do anything about it right now. We can come back for him later."

"No." Peter stated defiantly. "He is injured too badly to just leave him there. If we don't help him he won't last much longer."

"Assuming he is like a human, which I don't think he is." Gabriel argued. "Look, we have the chance to get out alive, why risk that for someone we don't really know? In case you forgot, Peter, we can die now."

A small smirk formed on Peter's face as he asked, "I'm not afraid. Are you?"

"You are an idiot." Gabriel scolded. He never imagined he would ever find anything in common with Nathan, but he began to see how frustrating it must have been to keep a leash on such an idealist. Why couldn't he just be more rational?!

"Maybe, but I'm no coward and we have to do the right thing." It was clear he had made up his mind and he would do it alone if Sylar refused to help. He just couldn't find it in himself to leave a man behind, especially one that was in serious need of medical help- help he could provide assuming he could get to him.

"Fine." Gabriel spat in frustration. He thought it a better alternative to go along with Peter's insane plan and at least get caught while doing something than to remain arguing in the hallway. "What do you propose we do?" If he was so hell bent on getting it done, he would be responsible for coming up with the plan this time.

"Well…" Peter mused again peeking through the window to survey the situation "I only see one guard. Since we both know you suck at fighting, I can take him." Gabriel scowled up at him for the insult, but he couldn't really deny it. "And I'm not really into the whole bondage thing- I think you would be better at getting him free from the restraints."

"Whatever." Gabriel mumbled. First Peter more or less called him a pussy and then added insult to injury by insinuating that he also had bizarre personal fetishes. His acquiescence only drove home exactly how different he was without his powers. Sylar would have had his scalp for such a sleight and no one- _absolutely no one_ would have the temerity to question his combat skills.

* * *

"Have you lost your friggin' mind?" Jim asked Nathan after politely excusing the group from the table to deliberate in a side hallway. "I thought we agreed that we were going to negotiate for _all_ of them!"

McCoy alternately looked at Nathan and back at the group to make sure they were far away enough so as not to eavesdrop. He was not a fan of negotiations and he was almost certain he could be engaged in something more productive elsewhere, but what worried him was the mob outside. If they didn't hurry, it might be too late and even he wouldn't be able to raise Spock from the dead if they got their hands on him. He was a doctor, dammit, not a magician.

"As I said," Nathan defended, "sometimes you have to give to get. Now, you want Spock back- we want Pete back, and they want a test subject although I can tell you now it won't amount to anything. They will never get what they want from Sylar."

"That's not the point!" Jim insisted, his blue eyes on fire. "Look, I know I am at a disadvantage here because Sylar isn't a crewmember, he's not even a citizen of the Federation to speak of. You guys are in a very grey area, but as you are all on my ship I am responsible for you- _all_ of you. Whatever vendetta you have with him you will have to settle it later in some other way because I won't let you abandon him here."

"He is the best chance we have." Nathan said slowly. "Now if you want to walk away without them getting anything, that won't happen."

Jim only saw one viable alternative left. He didn't want to play the card he was holding, but he had no other choice. "You were an officer." He stated matter of factly. "What happened to not leaving your men behind? I assume you were honorably discharged."

The insinuation that he was kicked out of his post for being a poor officer infuriated Nathan. "My record is spotless." He ground out using every ounce of control he could muster. "And as you know, Captain, some collateral damage is acceptable in order to win the battle. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

Jim slowly nodded although it was a hard truth he could never bring himself to accept. Spock's words rang in his ears as he made his way back to the negotiation table. "The purpose is to experience fear, fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is the quality expected in every Starfleet captain." He simply couldn't tolerate the idea of sacrificing Sylar- there had to be a win-win somehow. It was the Maru all over again and he didn't have the cheat codes this time.

As if things couldn't become any more complicated, when they returned they were face to face with Noah, Matt, and Chekov also seated at the table. Jim gave a "WTF" look to McCoy who only shrugged his shoulders. He had long ago stopped trying to figure things out- pretty much when Peter died and then came back to life in his sickbay. If he had to pinpoint an exact moment when he gave up, that would probably be it. Since then, he had witnessed a whole host of improbable and completely inexplicable events that if he repeated them to another sensible person would pretty much have him labeled as unfit to practice medicine by reason of insanity.

"Captain Kirk," Koval greeted in a friendly voice, "the rest of your delegation has finally arrived."

"I see." Jim replied squinting in particular at Chekov. Chekov ignored the withering glance and smiled pleasantly.

"I hope we haven't missed anything." Noah smiled as he folded his hands in front of him on the table.

"Not at all." Koval smiled. "We have just finished and we agree that returning Spock and the others would be the best outcome for both parties."

Nathan immediately turned to Matt who looked as though he were concentrating very hard and he sighed.


	41. Chapter 41 Death Before Dishonor

**Chapter 41- Death Before Dishonor**

It really was easier than it should have been Peter thought to himself as he stood over the unconscious body of the Romulan guard panting slightly from spent adrenaline and energy. Gabriel glanced over now and again as though he too thought it was too good to be true while he worked on the restraints that held Spock captive. All Peter did was quietly open the door and sneak up behind the humanoid to use his shirt as a device to choke him out. He tried to walk the line between oxygen deprivation sufficient enough to cause a black out and choking the being to death, but it was a very fine line because given the amount of force he had to use it still took far longer than it should have which was unpleasant for both parties involved. He had never before used his medical training to harm anyone and he felt slightly guilty about it, but he had to remind himself it was for the greater good. Still, he felt compelled to kneel by his fallen foe to check for a pulse just to assure himself that he didn't cause too much damage.

"I assume you used your abilities to escape." Spock weakly noted. It wasn't Jim who came to his rescue as he had imagined, but he was grateful nonetheless.

"No." Gabriel shook his head while he concentrated on the locks that held the manacles shut. Thankfully they were very simple devices, so he sprung all of them in short order. "They are temporarily out of order."

"No time to explain." Peter stated rushing to Spock's side to help him sit up even though he didn't seem to need assistance- or he was trying very hard to convey that he didn't, Peter didn't know which was the case. "Will you be able to walk on your own?" He asked quickly checking him over for any serious wounds or injuries that would prohibit him from moving around.

Spock was silent for a moment as he took stock of his physical being. He was sore to be sure and weak from blood loss, but on the whole things could have been much worse- and probably should have been if they didn't come for him. Logically he knew that there was only a .006% chance that the rescue attempt was Sylar's idea which left Peter. He wanted to tell the young human that despite his antiquated medical training if Dr. McCoy found treating him a challenge then there was no way he could figure him out, but judging by the look on Peter's face he probably had already thought of that. "I will be able to carry my own weight," He assured him in his most confident tone, "however, I am uncertain how long I will be able to do so."

"Well, just do what you can and we will do the rest." Peter smiled. Sylar didn't seem so sure.

Nonetheless, the trio slowly snaked their way through the remaining hallways until the entrance came into view. Gabriel squatted low to the ground and whispered, "Now what?" He was referring to the two guards that stood watch by the door, talking lightly amongst themselves about the low pay the position provided which might have been funny if the situation weren't so serious.

"I believe I have a solution." Spock volunteered. Despite his fatigue and general state of weakness he had to remind himself that he was still an officer and responsible for the other two men. The sense of duty alone gave him enough strength to carry out his plan. Before Peter could protest, he silently approached the two guards from behind and simultaneously gave each a nerve pinch that sent them directly to the floor before they even knew what happened.

"What the hell was that?" Gabriel asked in awe. He wasn't sure if Spock had a power too but whatever it was, he wanted it.

"I have no idea." Peter chuckled. "But it was pretty bad ass." Peter stopped laughing when Spock had to lean against the wall for support when his own strength was no longer sufficient. He didn't hesitate to run to his aid and wrap his arm around his shoulders to help him the rest of the way. He would have carried him if he thought Spock would allow it, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't abide that kind of indignity no matter how weak he was.

Gabriel peeked outside to see chaos. A very large ship marked "USS Enterprise" hovered not far away and the Romulans were running about like a beehive under attack. "Spock," Gabriel called over his shoulder, "what is the 'Enterprise?' Are you familiar with that name?"

"Very much so." He nodded with just the slightest smirk.

* * *

Scotty didn't know what to make of the scene that played out on the large screen on the bridge. He got a transmission from Jim stating that an agreement had been reached with the Romulans. He was ordered to meet the delegation team on the mining planet to pick up the away team as well as Peter, Spock, and Sylar, but judging by the way the residents of the mining colony were gearing up for war it didn't seem like they got the memo. "Hold 'er steady, Sulu and raise the shields just in case they get it in their heads to attack."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu nodded as he reached past Claire to arm the shields with the push of a button. "Sorry." He smiled when he realized it was rude.

"No problem." She smiled. "Just doing your job, I get it." After a moment of silence she got up the courage to ask, "Do you think this will work? Do you think they really gave up?"

Sulu gave her a tense smile because if there was anything he had learned while onboard it was one should never take anything for granted until it was all over with. Things weren't always what they seemed and even the surest bets sometimes fell through, so he couldn't find it in himself to lie to her or give her false hope. "I hope so." Was the best he could do.

She understood the intent in Sulu's response, but it didn't make her feel any better. There were so many people down there that she cared about in one way or another that she felt helpless and frustrated. There was Peter and her father, her real father Nathan with whom she was never really close but for better or worse he was still her flesh and blood, and Chekov- he seemed like such a nice guy she would feel guilty if something happened to him while he was trying to keep her father and Matt safe. And then there was Jim. She had to admit that she didn't really know him, but he did stretch out his neck to help them when he didn't know them either, so that had to count for something. Even Spock worried her. She wouldn't have said he was nice in the conventional sense, but he wasn't exactly a jerk either and there was something about him that she found calming even though he kind of looked like Sylar. That last part did take away a few points even though he couldn't really help it and at least he managed to wear the dark and brooding look without seeming like a maniac. She imagined he was more of an emo type- the kind of bad boyfriend that you sneak out at lunch with to smoke cigarettes in the alley behind the school. But the more she thought about it, it occurred to her that he was emo without actually being emo and somehow that just made sense.

"They look like angry ants." Ando commented lightly nudging Hiro in the side.

"Yes, but ants can sting and destroy everything with their collective power." Hiro nodded seriously as he watched the black clad figures scurry about on the ground.

"Then let's hope they have a huge can of bug spray on this ship because now we are without powers to help." His friend replied darkly.

Uhura was busy monitoring the communications that flew like darts between the Romulans. Despite patching through the communication from Jim herself, she still questioned the reality of it given the reaction and near panic that was going on. She had no reason to question Jim- not on something like this anyway. No matter her personal feelings on the captain or his various and numerous shortcomings as a human being, one thing that was certain was that he would never place his ship and crew in direct danger without them knowing what was going on. She was at first elated to hear that Spock and the others would be released and made a mental note to give Matt a huge hug for his efforts because he seemed to be the kind of guy that would appreciate such a thing without taking it the wrong way, but the more she listened, the more skeptical she became that this would all end neatly with a cherry on top. Especially when she heard the order go through to execute all prisoners before they could be liberated by the Federation.

* * *

Matt didn't really like flying, but by the looks of it Dr. McCoy detested it even more. The ship was small and cramped- so much so that all occupants nearly sat on one another in order to fit and once more Matt was reminded of how much more space he required than everyone else. He tried to read the minds of others to see if they noticed as well, but his powers were gone. The only person that he could be sure minded was Chekov who was sandwiched between him and a solid metal wall. The shallow breathing that could be mistaken for gasps and weak attempts to shift position were the only indication of the stoic Russian's suffering.

Jim tried to keep a neutral expression on his face even though he too was miserable. He was sweating profusely from being wedged in like a sardine in a tin can and the whole joint smelled vaguely like wet garbage. He was sure that given his current situation and the time he spent in the sweltering Klingon ship that he was no doubt contributing to the overall stench and he very much looked forward to a nice cool shower when all was said and done. The only respite he had was to turn his head slightly to the left where Nathan sat with his elbow wedged into Noah's chest and concentrate on the lightly fragrant scent of his cologne that was holding up remarkably well given the circumstances. It didn't make him gay, he reminded himself, it was practical because it was just no good to throw up and add to the problem.

Funny that McCoy was also thinking of throwing up, but he didn't give a damn about appearances and if the mood struck him he would let fly. Better out than in he always thought. It was just a shame that Jim was too far away since this was all his fault in the first place. As it was, a Romulan was his neighbor and if anyone deserved retribution more than Jim it would be a Romulan so second best would have to do. Rather than choose a target, he took a deep breath and shifted his medical bag while Nathan glanced at him nervously.

Noah sat patiently with Nathan's elbow in his chest and tried his best not to take deep breaths- both because of the smell and the discomfort. He told Scotty that he had seen worse before when he volunteered to come, but he was starting to rethink that statement. After all that he had witnessed and been part of in the Company's dirty dealings, he had never experienced anything quite like this. He felt naked despite wearing the standard uniform of the ship along with Nathan and Matt because he didn't have his gun. There was simply nowhere to conceal it in the snug outfit and he felt like less a man without it.

When the ship finally landed on Dahel, each man nearly trampled the next in an effort to reach fresh air. But what they walked out into was no better than where they came from because all around them chaos reigned supreme and blood flowed like water across the dark ground.

"What the hell is going on?!" McCoy yelled over the din between explosions.

"I am not certain." Koval stammered watching bodies running to and fro and occasionally falling dead right before his eyes.

Nathan watched the horror with a detached sense of calm. He had seen war before and he had led his men against the enemy. He knew the brutality with which one man could treat another and neither time nor distance could separate the laws of basic human greed. The Romulans may not have been humans, but they were similar enough to fall prey to the same desires and instincts. So it was not surprising to him when he realized that the Romulans were setting off bombs themselves- it wasn't the Federation ship that floated peacefully above the fray, it was a desperate attempt to deny final victory by destroying their own. It had happened before in history and it was all happening again. Death before dishonor.

In crisis situations, time really does slow down- or at least that was how it appeared to Matt as he watched Chekov, Noah, and Jim run toward the chaos. It was only after they were almost to their destination and too far away to hear the rest of them yell that a bomb was incoming did he realize why they had fled in the first place. In a small clearing among the running and the blood and the dead, Peter struggled to help Spock walk while Sylar led the way toward what he assumed would be a safe place behind a large rock. In what could only have been a second but seemed like hours, all involved were enveloped by flying dirt and debris when the bomb hit its target and the darkness swallowed them all.


	42. Chapter 42 Stay With Me

**Chapter 42- Stay With Me**

When Gabriel awoke, the first thing he noticed was the thick, metallic taste of blood in his mouth and it made him sick. He slowly opened his eyes and marveled at the way everything sounded muffled and so far away although he was right in the middle of the action, crumpled like a rag doll against the very rock he sought refuge from. It took a minute or two more to realize that Peter was laying on him still unconscious with Spock only a few feet away and…more…bodies…in uniform. The stark realization at what he was seeing was like a cold splash of water to his brain. He was smack in the middle of his painting. Despite all of his precautions and careful watchfulness the painting came true just as he always secretly knew it would.

Peter stirred ever so slightly and immediately moaned in pain. He didn't need to look at his body to know that something was terribly wrong. Everything felt all wrong like his limbs were bending in places that were never meant to be and his chest ached with each breath. He had never experienced pain like that before, not even falling over the wall onto concrete with Sylar hurt that much as he remembered it. He gave an involuntary shudder and weakly coughed up a good amount of blood that quickly soaked into the ground beneath him and he watched it slip away just as he knew his life was. He had been around enough trauma and death to know that he didn't have much longer to live and his only regret was not being faster or stronger so he might have saved Spock.

Gabriel shifted and slowly moved so as not to jostle Peter's broken body too much in order to sit up and the result was Peter laying languidly in his lap, face pale as death and in obvious agony. Gabriel looked down at his nemesis and felt nothing but a vague sense of loss and the notion that he shouldn't be made to suffer so long before dying. It was something that he never really pondered before- even the times when he was trying to kill him- what would life be like without him? Peter was his nemesis most of the time but he was also the only other person like him as far as he knew and he was painfully aware that he had a very long stretch of life ahead of him. And although he knew that invariably things would change as time passed until the life he knew was only a faded memory, knowing that Peter was still in the world would have made it a little more bearable even if he never saw him. Just the knowledge that some semblance of his life remained in the form of Peter- some tangible evidence that he really did have a normal life at one time might be enough. As he replayed the memory of the explosion in his head, things didn't match up to the general law of physics as he understood them. Then a startling conclusion occurred to him and he bent slightly to whisper, "Peter, did…did you try to shield me from the blast?" Peter's hazel eyes widened slightly and the smallest of smirks formed on his blue lips and Gabriel sighed. "Idiot."

"It worked." He weakly protested.

"I think you take the whole hero thing a little too seriously." Gabriel chided. "Really, Peter, you need help."

"Not anymore." He replied although Gabriel could barely hear him. His eyes were growing glassy and to make matters worse, a Romulan was approaching with his weapon raised and aimed at the two of them- obviously intent on finishing the job. Gabriel instinctively sat upright, clutching Peter close with one hand and reached out in an effort to stop the Romulan as though he still had his powers. Just past the guard he could see Nathan slowly getting to his feet and just above him, the waning eclipse and it was then that everything changed. He had a plan- he had to keep the Romulan at bay and Peter hanging on long enough for the sun to restore their powers. "Nathan!" He screamed with everything he had. If there was anyone who would move heaven and earth to protect Peter it was Nathan.

Nathan turned in the direction of the voice screaming his name to see exactly what Sylar had painted in his room and it sent chills up his spine. Before he even had time to think, his feet were carrying him at breakneck speed toward his brother and his would be attacker. He hit the Romulan from behind with such force he almost knocked himself out in the process, but his military training kept him alert and he recovered the gun to hold it over his new captive. As he looked into the Romulan's eyes he debated whether or not he should kill him. Being a pilot, Nathan knew he killed people in the war- probably innocent civilians too- but he was high above it all and never had to look his victim in the eye. And the same was true of the secret government project he was overseeing- the 10:00 reports were a daily reminder of his legacy but he never directly ordered them killed. There was a certain personal responsibility that he never had to deal with before then and he wondered how Sylar had the fortitude to watch the life fade from his victim's eyes time and again.

Gabriel held Peter as gently as he could without letting him slip from his grip and he felt as though he were fighting a losing battle. "Peter," he quietly said looking nervously at the man's waxy pallor, "you're almost there. You have to hold on just a little longer. The eclipse is almost over and Nathan is here. You don't want to leave him and Claire do you?" He gave a small desperate laugh and added, "Who will protect them from me when I get my powers back?"

"Nathan." Peter smiled as he tried to turn his head to look for his older brother- his hero that never let him down- well, mostly. It was most unfortunate then that when Peter's eyes finally focused enough to see his brother clad in a yellow shirt standing over a vanquished foe that he was soon the one at the disadvantage as a fresh battalion of Romulans swarmed the area and brought him to his knees with a shot to the back of his head with the butt of a weapon.

McCoy and Matt watched in horror as the Romulans began dragging their prisoners back into the building to no doubt execute them there or as McCoy hoped, use them as aces in a new round of negotiations. At least that would buy them enough time to do…something dammit. Nathan and Spock were the first to go and he knew he had to do something before all of them got drug back into the rat hole. So, against his better judgment he darted out from beside the ship and grabbed the closest Starfleet uniform to him which just happened to be Jim and did an admirable job of an impromptu fireman's carry back to the ship. Despite not being particularly athletic, adrenaline more than made up for his lack of physical prowess and he again set out for the next one and then the next until he had a neat pile of bodies consisting of Jim, Chekov, and Noah. With each rescue he deftly dodged and weaved his way around Romulans and explosions like a bootlegger running from the law in the backwoods of Georgia. Although he was out of breath, he started back for Sylar and Peter, but something stopped him cold.

Gabriel looked to the sky and felt the gentle warmth of the sun spill over his face and light the surface of the hellish planet. He could feel a change within his body- a tingling as his powers came back online and his body began to heal from the abuse it had taken. He felt stronger, more keenly intelligent, and more sinister as the inner darkness once more took hold. Sylar was back with a vengeance and once more Gabriel was locked away deep within his psyche, unsure of when or if he would ever be released again.

Peter too began to change. His color began to turn from pale to a pinkish healthy hue and his twisted limbs began to straighten and snap back into place as though they were never broken. This was nearly as painful as having them broken, but he was glad to be back from the very brink of death because Sylar was right: he had to stay and keep him in check as best he could. He sat up and turned to his unlikely partner. "Thanks for saving me, you could have let me die."

The coldness in Sylar's eyes told Peter the party was over and it was back to the status quo. "Why would I deny myself the pleasure?" He asked rhetorically. Peter sighed and nodded before taking notice of a group of Romulan guards that stood watching in awe. Undoubtedly they watched him heal instantly, but he didn't feel as though he owed them an explanation. But seeing them brought back what he hoped was just a hallucination of his dying brain: they had Nathan and they would now feel the wrath of gods- or demigods anyway.

* * *

"Kirk to the Enterprise." Jim's tired voice called over the system's communications.

"Aye, Captain!" Scotty answered excitedly. The way things had devolved so quickly on the surface compounded with Jim's tendency to be in the middle of it all had him a bit worried. "Are ya' alright, Sir?"

There was a half minute or so of heavy breathing and in the background the crew could hear McCoy bark, "Hold still, dammit!" before Jim gave a weak and completely unconvincing "Yeah."

"Great! Do ya' want us to beam you up then?" He asked hopefully. The truth was he didn't like sitting so close to the surface when he knew the Romulans had the capability and weapons range to attack. Some people hated drifting aimlessly in space, but not Scotty because it meant they weren't getting into trouble and there was no place he would rather be than nowhere.

"Sorta." Jim confirmed. "Listen Scotty, I want you to get Matt, Chekov, and Noah and have a med team waiting for them. Things have gotten a little complex down here and we need to get Spock and Nathan- the Romulans have them."

"Aye, Sir. Will ya' be needing any more reinforcements?" No matter the staggering improbability of Jim's luck, even Scotty couldn't imagine him not needing help on this one.

"Nah. Looks like the eclipse is over," Jim laughed mysteriously, "and I think we have at least one very motivated evolved human that is worth at least 10 of our men. Get the men off the surface and standby for us."

"Aye, Sir." He wanted to wish him luck or tell him to be careful, bit he knew Jim didn't need luck and wouldn't listen to the warning anyway, so he saved his breath and worked the controls at Chekov's station to run the transporters.

"Are they coming back?" Claire asked hopefully.

"Aye, lass." Scotty smiled. "At least some of them."

"I want to see my father." She stated resolutely as though she expected an argument from the acting captain. She also wanted to see Chekov, but she didn't think it wise to say it out loud.

"Go on then," Scotty nodded shooing her toward the elevators, "ya' might want to just go to sickbay since that's where they'll be goin'."

"Do you remember how to get there?" Uhura asked politely while she waited on the turbolift.

"Yeah, I think I can manage." Claire nodded at the woman who was probably only a few years older than herself. Uhura smiled and returned to her work deciphering the messages that streamed into her ear and Claire had something of a quarter life crisis at the sight of her. Here was this woman fairly close in age doing some very important work and what had she done in her life? Taken a few classes in college and generally felt useless- that's what. She had this amazing ability of not getting hurt and living a very long time and she was wasting it when she should have followed her uncle's example and used them to help people. She could be a firefighter, or a military pilot like Nathan, or she could work in medicine like Mohinder or even be a cop and protect people like Matt, but she felt as though she was doing nothing of particular importance to anyone and she hated that feeling.

When she arrived in the hospital area, she saw Matt standing by her father's bed where he was sitting while a medical person scanned a burn on his arm with a laser. "Are you sure?" She heard him ask Matt when she approached.

"Yeah, it was the last thing I did before we came up here." He answered emphatically. "I know for a fact that Peter was planning on kicking some serious alien ass to get Nathan back and Sylar just wanted revenge on one alien in particular, but you know him as well as I do. He will kill 100 just to get to the one."

"Dad." She smiled as she pretended not to hear what Matt had just said.

"Hey, Claire bear." Noah smiled also pretending not to have just had that conversation. So much of his life was built on pretense and he deeply regretted it but saw no other way to keep his little girl safe from the ugly truths in the world- even for just awhile longer.

"Are you ok?" She asked gesturing to the woman who was still operating the laser.

"Yeah." Noah nodded as though being blown up was on par with stubbing one's toe, "they call this thing a dermal regenerator. Works wonders! I wish we had something like this." He was actually amazed as he watched the laser repair his burned and lacerated skin as though it never happened.

Claire was only mildly impressed because she could do the same thing much faster on her own. "Is Peter ok?" She asked already knowing the answer, but she wanted to hear it for herself.

"Yeah, he's fine." Matt answered quickly. "The eclipse is over, so everything's back to normal." Whatever normal meant…

Claire thought the same, but didn't feel like arguing the point. "Ok, well I will leave you two to… whatever." She smiled as she turned away towards Mohinder's lab. She never really had much interaction with him, but the few times she did she found him to be level headed and calm- just what she needed right then. By his lab, in the same bed where Peter had rested while he was in his coma, was Chekov. He seemed to be alone and suffering, so she felt compelled to at least check on him. "Hey." She said awkwardly as she tentatively put her hands on the side of his bed.

He opened his blue eyes and smiled at the sight of her despite being in pain and gave his best "Hello" without sounding too pathetic.

She had to admit that he looked a little worse for wear since she last saw him bounding to the elevators enthusiastically to take his assignment. His clothing was smudged with dirt and torn, and he was bleeding in various places from what looked like shrapnel. "What happened?" She asked moving her hand to his arm lightly. Holding his hand as she did to try to comfort Peter when he was ill seemed a little too intimate, but she hoped it was just as good.

A light buzz of generalized excitement filled his body and he no longer felt much pain at her touch, and his smile became relaxed and brighter. "I don't know." He admitted. "Ve vere on our vay to pick up Peter, Spock, and Sylar and vhen ve landed, it vas all fighting and people running. I saw Peter helping Spock and I also saw a bomb coming for them, so captain Kirk, your father and I ran to try to get to them first. Vhen I voke up I vas laying on the ground by the ship and now I am here."

"Why isn't anyone taking care of you? Where are the doctors?" She asked looking around.

"They vill come. I can vait." He declared stoically.

She gave a small smile and patted his arm lightly so as not to accidently cause anymore pain. "Then I will wait with you. Is that ok?" She couldn't say what she was meant to do with her life, but for the moment she felt as though she had a purpose.

His eyes softly gleamed as he slowly nodded his head. "I vould like that wery much."


	43. Chapter 43 Poker Face

**Chapter 43- Poker Face**

When Nathan woke up, his addled brain exploded into a million shards of razor sharp pain that originated from the back of his skull as near as he could tell. He struggled to reach for any memory of what might of happened, but it was elusive and it was all he could do to simply open his eyes to take in his surroundings. When he did, he was thankful it was relatively dark and he was equally thankful that he was not alone. Spock sat awkwardly against a wall obviously in a world of hurt all his own and although he couldn't pinpoint exactly what tipped him off, Nathan got the distinct impression that they were far from safe. Perhaps it was the chaos of people running in front of the cell they were being held in or maybe it was the vague uneasiness in Spock's eyes as if he knew more than he was letting on, but that was at least something he understood- he and Spock were very much alike in that respect. Both men were careful to keep a poker face in even the most extreme circumstances because it was better than giving away your position. It was a very effective means of keeping one's options open unlike Peter who…Peter! "Spock!" Nathan groaned as he sat up way too fast given his condition. When the nausea passed and he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to pass out, he continued, "What happened to Peter? I…what the hell happened?"

Spock regarded him in silence for a moment before quietly observing, "It appears you have sustained an injury to your brain matter. Perhaps you should lie back down until medical attention is possible."

Nathan had to think about it for a second, but as he went over the words Spock had said it dawned on him that none of them had anything to do with Peter and it pissed him off a little. He was struggling as it was and he didn't appreciate having his limited cognitive resources wasted on irrelevant words and concepts. "You didn't answer my question." He flatly charged.

"I am uncertain what has become of Peter." Spock replied dispassionately. "Or the Captain, Noah, Mr. Chekov, or Sylar. The last memory I have retained was of incoming ordinance. It would be logical to assume that we were rendered unconscious by the detonation. I regained consciousness only minutes before you and likewise found myself captive."

Nathan's head throbbed and he wished Spock could just speak plain old English instead of sounding like Stephen Hawking giving a lecture on membrane theory, but at least he had answers- even if it only amounted to the fact that Spock was just as clueless as he was. In some ways it actually made him feel better to think that the alien wasn't infallible after all. "So we survived and were taken prisoner, is that it?" He asked wearily.

"I believe that is correct." Spock confirmed shifting slowly. If Nathan was peeved at his cryptic speech, Spock was just as irritated by being asked bloody obvious questions. Head injury or not, it was mildly grating. "At least until the time that the Romulans decide to execute us or the crew intervenes- whichever scenario occurs first."

Nathan couldn't help but laugh at the absolute lack of concern in Spock's voice as though the outcome didn't matter in the least. He made it sound like one was just as good as the other, which was of course patently absurd, but there was no better time for gallows humor. He never would have guessed that Spock was a comedian with impeccable timing. It seemed the dire circumstances made both their poker faces slip just a little to reveal the men underneath.

* * *

Outside, the remaining crew crouched by the ill fated rock trying to get a game plan together while Sylar acted as sentry- creating a protective shield by casually flicking away intruding Romulans as though he were swatting flies. He wanted to destroy them- and he knew he could- but Jim and McCoy all but begged him not to and he understood. It was bad enough they were there and piles of casualties would be a hard thing to justify from their standpoint. It just felt so good to be back that restraining himself was difficult and he may or may not have been a little too rough on occasion which McCoy noted with a glare.

"Is there any way we can know if they are still alive?" Jim asked. He hated to even give voice to the possibility that they weren't, but it had to be said and he was determined to make full use of the powers at his disposal if they were going to rush in after them.

Peter tried to focus Matt's power to listen for the familiar tone of his brother, but there were just too many beings all screaming thoughts to create such a din it make his head hurt. "No, but Nathan is alive." He declared, hazel eyes blazing, "I just know it."

"Great." McCoy grumbled still keeping an eye on Sylar as he sent more Romulans flying. "Now we are going on your intestinal say so." He was used to it with Jim, but he didn't know how reliable Peter's was.

"You are making this all much harder than it has to be." Sylar almost yawned. "Peter and I can go in while you stay here. We can't get killed and there is no way now that they can capture us. We simply walk in, get them, and walk out."

"And leave you to slaughter them?" McCoy howled. "No way. Besides, I at least have to go. What if they aren't stable enough to move right away? God only knows what they have done to them by now."

"I am going." Jim stated with final authority without offering a rationale. As captain, he didn't have to explain himself, but it should have been obvious to at least McCoy what his motivation was. Although they had a rough start, over time he and Spock had worked out an understanding and there was no way he was going to leave his first officer's fate in the hands of others. He was going in even if he wasn't bullet proof like Sylar and Peter because even if Spock wouldn't have used the term himself, Jim had come to consider him something of a friend and he wasn't one to let his friends down when they needed him.

"Alright then." Peter nodded in full understanding. "Then let Sylar and me take the front and you two follow. We can keep you safe and find them."

"How are we going to find them?" McCoy asked a little exasperated. "Just stop and ask someone?"

"Yeah," Peter answered with a dead serious expression on his face, "something like that."

* * *

Remembering being pushed out of the way by Dr. McCoy when she was too close to Peter when he was trying to work, Claire tried to stay out of the way when the medical staff finally made their way to Chekov. She stood by the door to Mohinder's lab so as to still be in sight and therefore keep her promise to the young Russian while he received treatment, but far enough away to talk to her father about some unpleasant things that had been stirring in her mind since she left.

Noah knew something was bothering his daughter for quite some time, but he also knew that pushing her to talk would do no good. She could be just as infuriatingly stubborn as he was but still it broke his heart to see her trying to be so strong and act like she had it all together when she didn't. He supposed she learned it from him and he couldn't decide if that was necessarily a good thing or not. There were times when it served him well and other times- when his marriage was crumbling to bits- when he might have done better to try another approach but no matter the misery his job had inflicted on his personal life he remained convinced that both Sandra and Claire were better off not knowing the whole truth. And if that meant Sandra leaving him for another man to have a happier life, then it was mission accomplished because in the end she still wouldn't know about the truly horrible things that lurked in the world- people like Sylar and the things he was capable of. Thankfully the Haitian had erased the memory of that encounter from her mind because that was one meeting she would never forget and it would no doubt have ruined her for life. He glanced into the lab at Mohinder who busied himself with the PADD and some equipment in order to pretend he wasn't listening. "Everything ok?" He casually asked his daughter as she watched the medical staff work on her new friend. He sincerely hoped this wasn't going to be about unrequited love or a potential relationship with the young crewman. He had nothing against the man, in fact Chekov seemed like a fine young gentleman with promising prospects, but he was no good at mushy love things- Sandra would have handled this type of thing- or Peter.

"Is it ever?" She asked wrapping her arms around herself in a resigned manner.

"Well, sometimes are more ok than others." Noah admitted wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an effort to comfort her. "But how about now? Something on your mind?"

"I just…" she sighed shaking her head, "how do you even begin to process this?" She gestured around the room and added, "Any of this? How is this in any way normal? What am I going to tell people when I go back?"

Noah nodded and replied, "Whatever you have to. This isn't normal Claire. I don't think any of us have ever seen anything quite like this outside of maybe Hiro. Maybe it would help to ask him how he made sense of his experience in feudal Japan but whatever you do you can't draw attention to yourself when you go back. You know how it is, Claire."

"I know." She whispered. "Always hiding."

"It's the safest way and I hope that this whole experience has shown you why. Some people just can't handle the truth- they just aren't ready to know about you and the others. But what we know now is that at some point people will be able to accept it and the truth will come out. The people on this ship at least knew about people with abilities and it has been easy for them to accept us as though we were just individuals who spoke with an accent or dressed differently. There will be time to be who you are, Claire, but in the meantime you have to do what is necessary to stay safe." He reminded her. That had always been his goal above all else and he had to convince her of it since he wouldn't always be around to protect her.

"How will this all end?" She asked looking almost desperately into his eyes.

"I don't know." He admitted giving her a weak smile, "But it always does somehow."

* * *

Sulu sat with Ando and Hiro at his station while he worked. He wasn't really doing anything per se, but he remained at the ready should the need for action arise. The stabilizers were doing a fine job of keeping the ship steady at hover and the Romulans had yet to take a pot shot at the ship, although the shields were up and at full strength last time he checked.

"Can't we just shoot them?" Ando asked watching the action like he had front row seats at the movies. If only he had a bag of popcorn…and the lovely Uhura sitting at his side…

"We could," Sulu shrugged, "but that would be an act of open aggression and a violation of Starfleet code. We can return fire, but not initiate a skirmish." He lectured as he once again looked over his readouts. "Besides, that would put the Captain and your friends in danger."

"It would not harm Peter or Sylar." Hiro corrected. "Peter went 'boom' over New York." He made a small explosion sound and made a vague gesture of an expanding mushroom cloud to illustrate his point.

"But Nathan stopped him." Ando countered keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

Sulu looked from one man to the other trying to figure out what exactly they meant. "How do you stop an exploding man?" He laughed incredulously.

"Exactly." Hiro smiled mischievously as he pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Ok…" Sulu sighed returning to his work. He had witnessed many strange things since joining Starfleet and he considered himself a fairly open minded individual who could at least tolerate extreme differences among people but the more he hung around the evolved humans the more he found his ability being stretched to the limits. How does a person- even one with special abilities- explode? _And_ survive? How physically does one become a bomb and detonate? He decided to chalk up the strange conversation to mistranslation and move on. Sometimes it was just easier to bury your head in the sand and pretend it never happened than to spend eternity trying to explain the unfathomable.


	44. Chapter 44 Payback

**Chapter 44- Payback**

"_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed_

_(I could do most anything to you)_

_Don't you breathe, don't you breathe_

_Something happened that I never understood_

_(I could do most anything to you)_

_You can't leave, you can't leave"_

"_Somewhere a Clock is Ticking" –Snow Patrol_

Jim had his phaser drawn as he and McCoy followed Peter and Sylar into the complex that held their compatriots, but it soon became glaring clear that it was a wasted effort. He could have been holding a water pistol and no one would have noticed. McCoy didn't even bother removing his from his belt which was fine with him. He hated even carrying the damn thing and only did so because he was absolutely required to. In truth he was a wicked shot mostly due to hunting birds and squirrels with his trusty slingshot while growing up in Georgia, but killing a pesky rodent that eats the crops you planted was very different from causing harm to another being- even if they did strongly differ in opinion. It all just seemed antithetical to his profession- he didn't need business that badly and in his experience there weren't many disputes that couldn't be resolved over a good bottle of whiskey. He had a gut feeling that Peter and Sylar wouldn't let them down, but he didn't think it would be as easy as they made it look.

Sylar and Peter walked at a brisk pace along the halls with such confidence and conviction it bewildered the Romulans that saw them and it was usually the last thing they saw before being thrown into the nearest wall with nothing more than a flick of a wrist. The invisible force was so strong it knocked them out cold and left them laying in a heap on the floor as the gods continued on without so much as a backwards glance. Both men wore grim and determined expressions while they marched alongside each other with a singular purpose and despite their tangled and tormented history, it felt remarkably right. Each had his own agenda, but remained focused on the same goal. Separately they were formidable in their own right, but together they were unstoppable and the Romulans didn't stand a chance.

Jim glanced over at McCoy as they stepped over the latest casualty and smiled excitedly. He had never had it so easy and for perhaps the first time since he allowed them onboard he began to think he actually made the right decision. Sure he would have some explaining to do when it was all said and done, but Starfleet would forget all about it when he told them about what the evolved humans could actually do! And with the data collected, perhaps they could even use it to develop defenses. Sure he was a little leery as was Spock in the beginning, but as he watched Peter and Sylar work it dawned on him that they were essentially super soldiers and if the Federation had that kind of technology how could that possibly be a bad thing?

McCoy, on the other hand, was having very different thoughts. While their powers made them nearly invincible it also made them a bigger target and he had no idea how in the hell they were going to keep Starfleet from finding out about them when they were marching down the halls like demigods, impervious to the feeble attempts at resistance the Romulans were putting up. Way too many people had witnessed them use special powers at that point and sooner or later word would get around- the universe just wasn't big enough these days, he thought grimly as Peter momentarily stumbled backwards when he took a blast to the chest from a phaser. Instinctively he tried to get him to lay down to treat him as best he could after taking a shot like that although he knew there was probably very little he could do.

Peter shrugged him off with a smirk as he watched the wound close while Sylar mercilessly dispatched the offender by apparently choking him to death without actually touching him. It wasn't something he planned to do, but seeing Peter gravely wounded made him act on impulse and he was almost disgusted to realize that the empathy remained and returned with his powers. It wasn't quite as strong as before, but it was undeniably still intact and he was furious because he was not by nature an impulsive person- unlike Peter- and it interfered with his preferred mode of precise, deliberate, purpose. This was one time his body acted faster than his mind. Logically he knew that Peter was in no real danger since he could heal, but for that one fraction of a second, he had forgotten that and all his mind could process was the fact that Peter was dead and he wanted revenge. His dark eyes flickered momentarily to Peter to see if he noticed it as well, but thankfully he was preoccupied with Dr. McCoy. He just hoped that he wasn't too talented in multitasking and secretly reading his mind while trying to convince the doctor he was fine.

Jim probably didn't notice Sylar's cognitive lapse, but the fact that the Romulan was decidedly dead did not escape his attention. "Sylar," he said quietly assuming his best authoritarian stance while squinting his sharp blue eyes, "what did I say about killing them? You and I both know that was completely unnecessary given all of the alternatives open to you. You could have taken his gun, you could have stunned him with the blue stuff you shot me with, and god knows how else you could have neutralized him but you didn't have to kill him."

Sylar held his gaze and wanted to rip the presumptuous little bastard a new one, but in the end he only gave a slight nod of acknowledgement because he knew he couldn't defend his actions and he would rather die a slow and painful death before he would admit to what actually happened. Thankfully, Peter intervened before Jim had a chance to press his luck.

"I can hear Nathan!" He proclaimed with a small relieved smile that lit up his face like a kid at Christmas. "It's him, I know it!"

"I don't suppose he's thinking about his exact location, is he?" McCoy groused. No matter how wondrous and improbable this whole thing was, he just couldn't shake the innate pessimism that always hung on him like a wet blanket.

"No, but he is with Spock." Peter replied.

"Can you hear him too?" Jim asked trying to hide the overwhelming tide of relief and hope that threatened to wash over him.

"I don't know him well enough to know what he sounds like." He admitted.

"Think of a monotone talking encyclopedia." McCoy suggested. "That will probably get you in the ballpark. At least that's what I imagine goes on between those pointed ears."

Peter paused and tilted his head slightly. "Then I would have to say probably." He nodded in appreciation. "At least this person has calculated that their chance of escape is 12.69%"

"That's him!" Jim declared flashing a wide smile although he was a little disappointed the Vulcan didn't give him slightly better odds.

"Then let's go disprove his theory." Sylar smirked as Peter lead the way, tuned into the familiar hum of his brother's scattered thoughts like a tracking device. It was fortunate for him that although on the exterior Nathan was calm and often acted serene, his mind never stopped spinning with political calculations and observations on human nature. This was the man the world never knew, but even in his captive and apparently injured state his only thoughts were of saving his little brother…somehow…and it made Peter smile.

'_Hang in there big brother,_' Peter thought as he and Sylar continued their controlled rampage through the building, '_I'll save you this time.'_ After all the times that Nathan had been his hero, it was time for payback.

* * *

Mendak was almost beside himself with fury when word got back to him of his father's deceit. In his absence he agreed to talks with the Federation and he agreed to let his captives- _his_ prizes and assurance of status- go! What had the Federation offered in return to make him do such a thing? Surely they must have threatened to crush the Romulans with their mighty ships including the Enterprise which he was told was in close orbit around Dhael. If his people were under attack, there was nothing left to do but defend them with his last breath. If he couldn't live the life of a nobleman he would die a hero.

"Get my ship ready!" He barked at a courtier. "And load all of the secret rockets you can get onboard."

The courtier deferred as he was expected to, but the look of surprise and reluctance on his face was hard to miss. "But Mendak," he nearly pleaded, "we haven't even tested the warheads yet. We don't know what they will do."

Mendak paused only for a second. Did the cowardly little worm just dare question him? Rather than publicly humiliate the transgressor or threaten to have him fired as he normally would have, he grinded his teeth and growled, "Then consider this our first trial."

Of course Mendak knew the warheads hadn't been tested, he developed the damn things and oversaw the lab they were created in! But he had full faith and confidence in his top scientists who told him that these weapons were the likes of which had never been seen before in their destructive capability. When properly calibrated, they could even punch a hole through the toughest defense shields. While he didn't know what would happen with the weapons, he was eager to find out.

He walked to a balcony overlooking the main square at the crowds still celebrating. They didn't know what had transpired and as he listened to the crowd chant his name and "Death to the Vulcan" he became determined to save his legacy even after his father's treason. His father was now an enemy of the people and they must know of his treachery, but only after he returned yet again as the victor- either with the head of Spock or with the distinction of being one of the first to take down a Federation ship singlehandedly. He would be the hero his people needed and he would bask in their praise.

* * *

Mohinder ran his hands through his dark, curly hair in sheer frustration. He knew where the specimen vials were kept, but he searched high and low and could not for the life of him locate what he was looking for. He looked through the cabinet for the hundredth time and just as he expected, the only vials present were neatly labeled "Peter Petrelli." Those marked "Sylar A.K.A Gabriel Gray" were nowhere to be found. He didn't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but he knew for a fact the vials containing Sylar's blood, hair, and skin cells from a cheek swab were in the cabinet the last time he looked and now they had vanished. This coupled with his contaminated sample made him wonder if he wasn't being sabotaged. He quietly made his way over to Matt who was still being signed out by a nurse. "Matt, may I speak with you when you have a moment?" he asked in a pleasantly smooth clip that immediately made Matt suspicious.

"What's up?" Matt asked eyeing the Indian like a potential purse snatcher.

"I was just wondering if you would be so kind as to do me a small favor." Mohinder smiled nervously. "Would it be possible for you to scan the thoughts of the staff here to see if there is any…alternate…plans for our being here?"

Matt scoffed and shook his head. "What the hell are you getting at? _Alternate_ plans? Like what? Grinding us up and feeding us to the staff?"

"Perhaps not that dramatic." Mohinder sighed rolling his eyes. He knew it wouldn't be so easy. Matt was not really one who relished using his powers, he just wanted to be a normal guy and in a way he could respect that, but not at the moment. "It's just that there have been some odd coincidences and I would like to know a little more about it." He reasoned.

"Whatever." Matt shrugged as he alternately looked from one member to another. After a few tense minutes he reported, "No one seems to know where Hoffa is buried or who shot JFK, but there is going to be a surprise birthday party for Mary tonight." Matt chuckled at the expression on Mohinder's face and he added, "There will be cake."

"Thank you for your assistance." Mohinder grumbled as he returned to his lab.

"Cake hater!" Matt taunted.

Mohinder started to turn around to refute the charge because he actually did enjoy a nice slice of moist cake with icing from time to time, but he quickly realized that Matt was only trying to get a rise out of him and he wisely let it go. Someday he would get his comeuppance.


	45. Chapter 45 Exit Strategy

**A/N: Sorry there was no update last week, I just needed a break from the story for a bit but I'm back and I promise I will finish it! Cheers!**

**Chapter 45- Exit Strategy**

McCoy knew that Peter had special abilities that allowed him to do extraordinary things, he had seen it time and again, and yet there was something utterly otherworldly in the way he lead them straight to the holding cell that contained Spock and his brother as if he had locked them in himself. For some reason it wouldn't have been as creepy if Sylar had done it- he was just naturally unnerving- and McCoy found himself wondering what it was like to actually be either of them. He imagined it would lead to more headaches than he knew what to deal with. It was bad enough that people felt free to stop him in the hallway to ask advice on personal matters like he was Emily Post and an authority on interpersonal etiquette, to be able to hear their thoughts before they opened their mouth would be unbearable because sometimes he could discourage them with only a scowl before they had a chance to spoil his day…even more. It would be handy to use on his pig headed Captain, though. And if he could shoot energy from his hands the way he knew they could, people would think twice about disregarding his orders. But more than any other time, he wished he could read the thoughts of the suffering but always stoic Vulcan he witnessed on the other side of the bars. Damn if he didn't aggravate the hell out of him most times with his perfect diction and logic, but a man with one eye and half a brain could see that despite his façade he was in serious trouble and the only thing he wanted to do was to get through the door as quickly as possible to assess the damage.

Nathan picked up his head at the sound of Peter's voice softly calling his name. He stared wide eyed in disbelief at Peter as he wrapped his hands around the bars of his cage with a small, lopsided smile on his face that he found reassuring. His head was pounding and it hurt to keep his eyes open, but the sight of his unscathed brother- with a tattered shirt belying his current condition- was the best he could have possibly hoped for. Peter had survived long enough to wait out the eclipse and the man brooding just over his left shoulder had a good deal to do with it, but the old Sylar was clearly back so he wouldn't be thanking him anytime soon least it provide future ammunition for manipulation. Perhaps sometime in the future he might quietly swing some largess his way if he was in dire need as only a Petrelli could in silent acknowledgement of his gratitude, but he would never outwardly recognize his contribution to his brother's well being. And although he could never really imagine Sylar being in dire need of his help or inclined to take it even if he was, one thing Nathan had learned was no never say never.

Jim was nearly ready to chew through the bars if he had to in order to get to Spock. While Spock never overtly said or did anything to encourage him, he had known the stubborn Vulcan long enough to see the small glimmer and subtle change in his eyes that was a sign of relief at his arrival- or at least that was how he was determined to interpret it. He had one sole purpose in mind and that was to come for his friend and he wasn't about to let some forged metal stand in his way. Just as he was contemplating trying to melt the lock with his phaser or perhaps all of them pulling on the weakened bars together to open a gap just wide enough for the prisoners to squeeze through, Sylar solved the dilemma with not much more than a glance and a twitch of his finger to spring the lock with a small "click." It was almost enough to piss Jim off, but he had to remind himself that it was a good thing the evolved humans were on their side and to be appreciative of their powers even if it made him look like an ass. He kept forgetting that with them, the conventional rules of the universe just didn't apply, but at least in this case it made for an easy and expedient inroad and in his mind the easier the better.

Spock understood the concern of his rescue party, because in truth it really was a dire situation and he knew for a fact that he had sustained a moderate level of blood loss, increasing his chances of complications in recovery and evacuation, but he knew with equal certainty that his crewmates wouldn't have come as far as they did if they had any intention of leaving him behind- even if it was the most logical course of action given the circumstances. This was why he didn't even bother to inform them that statistically they had a much better chance of survival if they would take Nathan and go as their chances of a successful escape diminished by approximately 21.3% for every minute they lingered. He knew Jim wouldn't 'give a rat's ass' as he might say and McCoy would snap at him to keep quiet while he worked on him, so he just allowed the doctor to go about his business and studied the intense expression on his face as he occasionally grumbled about Vulcan physiology. It was perplexing to him why McCoy acted as though his unique physiology was a novelty when he knew the doctor had spent excessively long hours reviewing his medical records and studying his physicals intensely…just in the event such a need arose as like the one he was in where he needed every bit of that knowledge to save his life. Despite his protestations, Spock was utterly confident that the doctor was well informed and competent to intervene, and he trusted him completely even if McCoy had unfounded reservations about his own abilities.

Peter used his own unique skills as a nurse and paramedic to triage his brother even though he wasn't exactly cooperative at first, stating he didn't want to play hospital with him while he repeatedly pushed his hand away. "Nathan," he warned in his friendly yet stern paramedic voice, "we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. We both know I can make you cooperate, but I don't want to. Just let me take a look at you, I promise I won't do anything, ok?" Nathan squinted incredulously at him with his big brown eyes and Peter felt like a jerk for threatening his brother like that, but it had to be done. Thankfully, Nathan acquiesced with a chuckle and as he went through the neurological head trauma exam he found himself hoping that he wouldn't remember it anyway because he would never let him live it down otherwise. By the positive results of his exam, he probably wouldn't.

Sylar watched on with his arms folded and a mysteriously blank expression that gave Jim the chills. He noticed, but didn't feel the need to explain himself, he was fine with the Captain thinking he was some kind of monster because in a way he was. He was happy to have his powers back, ecstatic, really. Once more he felt comfortable in his own skin and he was the master of his universe. Trivial matters like the ones on display were no longer of concern to him, he had a much…much…longer worldview again and he was largely above it all, like watching a movie but not really being a part of it.

But as he observed, his IA ticked along with the regularity of a perfectly tuned clock, making notations and memos. For all of his notes, one pattern emerged: the deep relationships that others had. The bond between Peter and Nathan was more than obvious and it was equally apparent that McCoy had just a bit more than a professional concern for Spock as did Jim- it was personal for them as though he were their brother. He envied Spock in a way because he managed to strike a balance between his solitary nature- so much like his own- and the outside world. During the eclipse he had just a taste of what that felt like with Peter and it was exhilarating, comforting, and deeply frightening all at the same time. That feeling was largely gone, only traces of his empathy remained, but the memories were faithfully cataloged in his steel trap mind for him to retrieve at will should he ever want to.

"Jim," McCoy quietly muttered in the tone of voice that told him he would panic if he weren't trying to be a professional, "we have to get out of here, but I can't move him." He jerked his head in Spock's direction, who was looking oddly pale even for being half human.

Jim put his hands on his hips and nodded. He wanted to just throw Spock over his shoulder and run like hell if that was what it took, but he trusted Bones with his life- on many more occasions than he would admit to- so he believed him when he said the situation was dire. But there was no way he was going to leave without him. And then it hit him: "Peter," he said kneeling by him as he wrapped up his brother's exam, "is there any way at all you could teleport Spock to the ship? Just you and him, we can get out some other way."

Peter turned his hazel eyes to Jim and smirked. "Why just him? I can take us all. Nathan could move on his own, but he has a head injury and I don't think he would make it far." Nathan began to protest, but Peter gave him a loving pat on the shoulder to silence him. "We could fight our way back out, but I don't want to take a chance of…" he glanced up at Sylar and continued, "…causing more damage. Everyone has to be touching for it to work, though."

"Ok." Jim agreed eagerly. "Everybody hold hands. We're going home!" He for one hated Peter's teleportation and he knew he would be sick at the end of it all, but it was the most sensible solution, a true win-win so he would have to suck it up and take it like a man.

"Wait….wait." Nathan protested shaking off Peter's hand. "Doc, you got the…things…we…"

McCoy looked confused for a moment before reaching into his bag and removing three vials. He then quickly injected his allotment of the toxin Peter had brought back into each one and gave them a few vigorous shakes before tossing them into a corner. He might have been quick about it, but Sylar was faster. It took only a fraction of a second for him to read the label "Syalr AKA Gabriel Gray" and figure out that they were his biological samples. He glared down at the doctor with a sense of betrayal.

"We promised we would leave you behind for them to experiment on," Nathan smiled weakly, "and we did. Just not how they were expecting."

"And you ruined the samples with the toxin so they can't get any real information." Peter smiled reading his brother's disjointed thoughts. That was one of the reasons he was a great politician: living in a world of half truths and illusions, but at least this time it worked in their favor.

"Bones!" Jim cried with a smile on his face. "You knew all this time he wasn't going to leave him here? Jesus, you could have said something back at the negotiations so I didn't look like an ass!"

"I thought he let you in on it!" McCoy defended. "Besides, it wouldn't have mattered if I told you, you would have found some other way of making an ass of yourself. You always do."

"Wait," Sylar calmly said waving his hand to silence the room, "you were going to leave me here to die? That is the question of real importance here. Who decided this and when? Was it before or after I stuck my neck out to play your little games?"

"We can figure this out later," Peter replied grabbing Sylar's hand to complete the circle, "but for now, we gotta go." With that, everyone disappeared from the face of the planet.

* * *

"Sir!" Sulu alerted looking over his panel. "Five people have just boarded the ship!"

"Alert Security and catch 'em!" Scotty shrugged. He wasn't about to let five uninvited guests complicate things any further. "If they are Romulans, toss 'em in the brig and sort it all out later."

"No response yet from the ground." Uhura reported. She tried her best to keep a professional tone, but she along with everyone else on the bridge watched the chaos on the ground and she knew the chances of the away team's safe return was looking bleak.

"Keep tryin'. We'll hear somethin' sooner or later." He replied. He hoped it was sooner rather than later. He sure as hell didn't want to be on the hook to Starfleet brass explaining why he was now the Captain, what happened to the senior staff, and why the hell they were in Romulan territory in the first place. Then, like the voice of God himself, he heard such a wonderfully sounding voice call, "Scotty! You are relieved." He turned to see Jim bounding from the lift toward his chair looking a little pale.

"Aye, Sir!" he smiled yielding the command and completely amazed that the Captain wasn't worse for wear as he usually was on away trips.

"Mr. Kirk!" Hiro stood and bowed to him. "So happy you returned."

"Thank you." He nodded uncomfortably. He really wished he would stop the bowing, he never really knew how to respond to that kind of display.

"Did the others return too?" Ando asked on pins and needles. He really hated being in suspense.

"Yeah," Jim answered turning and giving a small nod to Uhura because despite her attempt to remain professional, he could see the panic all over her face. "_all_ of us. Now, Mr. Sulu, get us out of here."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu replied as he dropped the shields and prepared for warp. "Uh…Sir. We have a small problem." Jim turned just in time to see a Bird of Prey fill the screen and fire on them. The ship shook violently, throwing Ando and Scotty to the floor.

"Sir, incoming hail." Uhura called as she struggled to remain at her station and put the image on the screen.

"Greetings, Captain Kirk." Mendak sneered. "You have made a deal with an enemy of our people…a traitor who will be dealt with soon enough. He has traded our property to you in a false deal and we want it back."

"No way." Jim answered resolutely. "We have an agreement with an official acting on behalf of the Romulans and that deal stands. I can't help it if you don't agree, but we acted though official channels and the agreement is binding."

"Turn over the humans and the Vulcan!" Mendak roared as spit flew from his lips in a rage. "Return them or you will die!"

"We will not return them." Jim declared with steely conviction. "You have no right to demand it and we will defend ourselves if attacked"

Mendak slowly smiled and began to chuckle. "Then you have chosen your path. Prepare to die."


	46. Chapter 46 Unlikely Allies

**Chapter 46- Unlikely Allies**

"Scotty." Jim reflexively called while he pushed the intercom button to Engineering on the arm of his chair.

"Aye?" Scotty answered picking himself up off the floor where he and Ando had crash landed.

Jim tried not to look too disturbed at his gaffe, but recovered nicely. "Get down there and get a damage report. We need as much power to the engines as possible. I'm not going to mess around here, I want us out post haste and we will fight if they chase us." It was bad enough to potentially lose crew members, but having the evolved humans on board raised the stakes _and_ having displaced Klingons to be responsible for just compounded the problem and Jim had to be especially careful not to screw this one up least he find himself in a brig for a very long time to come.

"Aye, Sir!" He replied running to the lift.

"Where the hell is Chekov?" He asked looking around.

"I believe he is still in sickbay, Sir." Sulu answered nonchalantly as he again raised the shields and took care of the activities his friend would normally do as best he could.

"Crap." Jim muttered looking back at Spock's empty station. He knew the scrappy Russian would have to get checked out, but he also knew how tenacious he was. If there was even a chance he could return to duty at a time like this even though he was not 100% he would have, which made him wonder if his navigator's condition was worse than he first thought. There was no question as to what was going on with Spock, but he really could have used his calm assessment. How was he supposed to run a ship when all of his best men were absent?

* * *

Down in sickbay, Mohinder slowly stood from the floor and gently rubbed the bump that was forming on his head from where he was thrown into the desk in his lab. Whatever happened, the area was now abuzz with frantic activity, so he peeked out into the main area to see a swarm of blue uniforms surrounding Spock and Nathan as they were hoisted onto the exam tables across from each other. Where had they come from and when did they get back? What had happened to them? He calmed a bit when he took in Peter's stoic form nearby his brother's bed. If Peter wasn't worried, then there was no need for him to be, he reasoned.

Claire remained at Chekov's side, but her attention was fully on the commotion on the other side of the room where her father lay. Spock seemed to have received the short end of the stick, but although he seemed like a nice enough alien, he wasn't really her concern; he wasn't her father. Despite the often bumpy and what some would call nonexistent relationship they had, her heart was in her throat at the thought of losing him. Thankfully, her observant uncle came to her rescue…again.

He quietly pulled up a chair next to her and gave a friendly nod to Chekov who smiled in return and tried his best not to eavesdrop on what he was sure was going to be a private conversation, but it was fairly difficult given the fact that he couldn't go anywhere and they were no more than three feet away. Besides, he too was eager for any news of what had happened.

"It's ok, Claire." Peter smiled warmly at his worried niece. "I checked him out myself. He has a head injury, but Dr. McCoy said he could fix it in no time and he'll be right as rain by dinner." Even as he said the words, he realized how incredulous it all sounded. In his experience it would take the average person a week or two to recover under normal circumstances, but he had to remind himself that the future was not normal and he had no reason to doubt Dr. McCoy's estimation even if it did seem implausible.

Claire nodded and tried not to cry, but after having both of her fathers, her favorite uncle, and her new friend in near medical mishaps so close together while she stood by and watched, she felt drained from the stress. "And what about Spock?" she asked more for Chekov's benefit than her own although she certainly wished him no harm.

Peter looked over his shoulder at McCoy as he worked frantically and answered, "I don't know. I think he will be ok, but his body isn't entirely like ours from what I can gather. I'm not sure what that means, but I am sure they will work as hard as they can to help him." He gave her a reassuring squeeze on her hand and asked, "So what's going on here? How do you feel, Chekov?"

"I vill be fine, Sir." The young Russian reported.

Peter smirked at being called 'sir' because he probably wasn't that much older than him, but he chalked it up to being in the military and let it go. "Thanks for trying to get to us." He nodded. "I saw you just before the bomb hit. You were way out in front of everybody! Either you got a huge head start or you are quite a sprinter."

"I do like to run." He shyly admitted. "I von the marathon at the academy every year I vas there."

Noah watched the conversation from a distance and was thankful Peter had returned to deal with what he couldn't. Matt stood by his side and tried to stay out of the way as best he could, but couldn't help but remark, "They look pretty cozy, don't they? Do you think Claire has a crush on the navigator?"

Noah removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I hope not, but probably."

"He doesn't seem like such a bad kid." Matt shrugged. "It could be a lot worse. She could have fallen for a punk who rides a motorcycle and has a pierced nose."

Noah chuckled. "Oh, that wouldn't happen. Trust me." There was just enough of an edge to his voice to let Matt know that he would do whatever- and that could be a great many things not available to the average father- to put an end to that relationship before it had a chance to take off. "He's not a bad kid, but this can only end badly." He replaced his glasses and looked to Matt with a heartbroken expression. "What will happen down the road when it is time to go? She doesn't belong here and he can't come back with us. I should try to stop it now before it gets too far."

"Just give them a little more time." Matt said cautiously. "She needs a friend right now and that's all it is." Noah looked sharply at him because he knew he had read his daughter's mind, but Matt couldn't stand to see her suffer needlessly. "Just let her have her 15 minutes, ok?"

McCoy worked furiously to sedate Spock so he could begin the lengthy repair process to close the many, many wounds that crisscrossed his green tinted flesh. "Barbarians." He spat in frustration as he ran yet another line of synthetic blood replacement he had formulated specifically for Spock since a traditional transfusion would likely kill him. If the ship was going to take hits like the one they just experienced, it would make his job that much harder. It seemed like a desperate losing battle; Spock was bleeding out as quickly as McCoy could pump it in, but he kept a few of his techs busy making more and he was determined to win because he made a piss poor loser.

* * *

Sylar made his exit shortly after Peter had whisked them away from the god forsaken mining planet and plopped them in the medical area of the ship. There was so much chaos and running by the staff he found it easy to slip out unnoticed since he was not injured nor necessarily cared about those that were. Through some miracle he was alive and well although he certainly didn't look it with his dirty, bloody clothing. He looked down at his red shirt stained darker in some areas by Peter's blood with distain. He was angry to say the least and he stalked the hallways to clear his mind of the things that were swirling through it like a hurricane and disturbing his normally tranquil thought process. He was incredulous that someone- likely Noah or Nathan- had decided that he was expendable despite the uncharacteristic goodwill he had shown. He knew deep in the back of his mind that he could never be redeemed in their eyes no matter what he did and maybe he deserved that distinction, but he didn't deserve to be abandoned on a foreign world with hostile aliens. Barring another eclipse cycle, he could easily defend himself until the end of time, but it would have been a bleak and weary existence always being on the run and hunted like an animal…but was it really any different than his old life in New York?

But aside from all of the backstabbing and hidden agendas, which was to be expected in his estimation, was the cold hard fact that he was denied what he most desired: revenge on the bastard guard that brutalized him when he was most defenseless. Never mind that a differential in power was how he lived his life- he being the have while most everyone else was a have not, or at least soon dispossessed of what they did have if he wanted it- it was quite different when he was the one who could not fight back and every fiber in his all-powerful being screamed for revenge. In a way he could understand Peter's haste in getting out, but at the same time it cut short his plan to make the guard suffer at his leisure and it irritated him. He didn't like his plans taking a backseat to other's concerns and Peter could have left him to…he stopped dead in his tracks and thought about it for a moment. Peter could have left him behind as the others wanted- but he didn't. He cocked his head slightly and pondered the peculiarity. Aside from it just being his nature, what made him reach for his hand to save him? The two certainly had their share of knock down drag out fights in the past and the smart thing for him to have done was to let him rot as a final victory over his foe, but instead he teleported him along with the others. Sylar's dark eyes widened slightly as the wondered if Peter felt something for him as well- some kind of special mercy as a person somehow important to him…something like…a brother? How else could you explain the asinine reaction that was beyond all logic?

He slammed into a wall when the ship suddenly jerked and shuddered and he didn't need his IA to tell him that something had gone dreadfully wrong. The few people he did see in the hall began suddenly running towards their destinations with haste and he assumed the ship was being attacked. He also knew that if there was ever a time when he may be needed and another chance to redeem himself, it was then. It may never matter to anyone else if he got involved and no doubt everyone would question his motives, but he for one really wanted to return to Earth intact and the prospect of eternally floating in space alternately dying and reviving after the ship was blown up did not seem like a very attractive option. So once more, his agenda would indirectly benefit everyone else, he thought as he made his way to the bridge to avail himself of his services once more. If he wasn't careful, people may get the wrong impression that he was a good guy, but that was a chance he was willing to take if it meant saving his own ass.

* * *

Down in the engine rooms, Scotty swore loudly as he fanned thick smoke away from his face and turned off the blaring alarm of the fire suppression system. When the ventilation fans kicked in and the air cleared, his jaw dropped when he realized that they were in very deep trouble indeed.

"Scotty to the bridge," he called to the intercom, "Ah got that status report ya asked for."

"Yeah, what's the news, Scotty?" Jim asked anxiously.

"Bad. Very bad, Captain. We're lookin' up the arse end of a dead horse here."

There was a moment of silence before Jim's voice patiently called, "Um……what?" It had been awhile since he left the farm in Iowa, so the livestock analogy didn't click for him.

Scotty slowly walked over to the smoldering remains of the now fractured and partially melted housing of the warp core and gave it a half-hearted kick. "The engines are as useless as tits on a boar, Sir. The core is intact, but Ah cannae fire them up or we'll be blown inta the next quadrant."

"So what you are saying is we are sitting ducks." He surmised bleakly.

"Aye, Sir. The auxiliary system has just enough juice ta keep the shields up, but Ah don't know for how long." He sighed. Even being the galaxy's best engineer ever had its limitations and he was forced to admit he may be looking at his. Even if he worked non-stop, it would take him days to get it up and running again and that was time they just didn't have with the Romulans breathing down their necks.

"Hold on, Scotty." Jim chuckled with a smile in his voice. "I have just been informed that a new engineer may be able to help."

"Ach, I don't need any more bodies down here." He groused. "I don't think it will help and Ah sure as bloody hell don't have time ta train someone wet behind the ears."

"Oh, I think you will want this one and I don't think you'll have to train him much."

Scotty started to protest until it clicked. Who was the only person who could master such a complex system in so little time without any guidance? "Sylar?" he guessed feeling a little conflicted about letting someone like him near his precious machinery no matter his intentions.

"Yep. He's on his way." Jim confirmed. "And Scotty? Be nice and share your toys with him. I know how you can be sometimes."

Scotty grumbled and looked around at the beautiful systems he had come to love. For him it was going to be a little like sharing his girlfriend with a total stranger, and not in a good way.


	47. Chapter 47 Redemption

**Chapter 47- Redemption**

The fight for Spock's life was not going well, but McCoy wasn't about to give up. While the sensible part of his brain- the medical one- told him that a point would soon come when it would be useless to continue with interventions because the damage was just too great and too much time had passed since the injuries occurred, the emotional side of him- the one nobody outside of Jim had ever witnessed- stubbornly refused to quit because he was nothing if not dependable and loyal to the very end. He was not about to let Spock slip away because at the end of it all, he was incredibly valuable to the ship, and he was unique as a Human/Vulcan hybrid, and despite aggravating the hell out of him, he couldn't imagine life without the damn pointy eared bastard. Still, he could see the writing on the wall that his efforts were increasingly becoming more desperate and he began to wonder just how far he really should go…at what point would Spock himself say 'enough'? Scratch that, he thought as he barked for yet more blood substitute, he would be all logical and calculate his life's value in terms of percentages and whatnot. But McCoy was a firm believer that what was logical was not always what was right, and so he labored on.

"Need a nurse?" Peter asked quietly sidling up to the bed across from McCoy.

McCoy glanced up and saw that by the determined expression on his face, it really was a statement on his part rather than a question and as all the rest of his staff was busy with other patients flowing in from the blast, he nodded in agreement and hoped his skills weren't too antiquated. Leeching at this point seemed out of the question.

Peter seamlessly began cleaning wounds and staunching the flow of blood on his side while McCoy worked on his. Two was definitely better than one, and if having strange green blood all over his hands bothered him, the kid didn't show it in the least as he calmly plugged along as though he did it every day of his life- but he kind of did McCoy reminded himself, and this probably wasn't the worst of what he had seen back when humans shot metal fragments at one another and drove death trap vehicles. But he had reason to be placid, if he had the ability to heal and immunity from…McCoy stopped dead in his tracks with wide eyes as he looked intensely at Peter.

"Did I do something wrong?" Peter asked tentatively. He was pretty sure he was following protocol closely, but maybe there was something special he should be doing on account of Spock's alien physiology, although from what he could see it looked just like every other torso he had seen before.

"No." McCoy answered shaking himself from the instant shock he was experiencing. "Peter, I am going to be straight with you here: I'm losing him and I would never ask under other circumstances, but…" He didn't know what to make of Peter's blank expression and he knew he was asking a lot, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "You have the ability to rapidly heal. Can that in any way be transferred to Spock before he dies here on the table?"

Peter glanced down at Spock's pale face and sadly shook his head. "It doesn't work that way for me or Sylar. We can heal, but we can't give that ability to others. But…" He squinted across the room at Claire and swallowed before calling her over. She seemed only mildly disturbed at the carnage but kept her eyes focused on her uncle almost as if she knew. "Claire," he began slowly pulling her slightly aside for the conversation, "Spock is in serious trouble. He is dying and Dr. McCoy doesn't think he can save him. He needs some help…help only you can give."

"He needs my blood." She nodded looking at the terrible condition of the alien man. "Ok."

"Don't you want a minute to think about it?" Peter asked with a crooked smile.

"Nope." She sighed. "I have been just a tag along on this ship and now is my chance to do something." She hastily rolled up her sleeve and smiled. "Tap me."

"Thanks, Missy." McCoy nodded sincerely. "But exactly what is it in your blood that does the trick? I don't think I can just give him a straight transfusion- mixing pure human blood with his might be worse than doing nothing."

"Mohinder!" Peter yelled across the room. When the harried Indian man hastily came running, he continued, "We need your expertise. Remember the Shanti vaccine you developed? Well, we need you to isolate Claire's factor again. How fast do you think you can get it done?"

Mohinder swallowed hard as he took in Spock's condition. He wasn't exactly a medical doctor, but he had been in hospitals long enough to know that he didn't have long. "Perhaps an hour or so. Maybe faster if all goes well."

"Let's go!" Claire smiled as she led the way to his lab. "Tick tock goes the clock." She froze as if her words had summoned a demon from the depths of hell.

"Peter!" Sylar called as he rounded the corner of the room in search of the only other man he knew of that might be able to help. "We have to go to the engine rooms."

"Why me?" Peter asked perplexed.

"I…" Sylar paused as he searched for the right thing to say. "You just do. Now let's go."

After a quick dismissive nod from McCoy that released him from his duties, he followed while Noah and Matt looked on with extreme curiosity. "Is it your IA thingy telling you?" He asked as he jogged behind Sylar to the lifts.

"Yes." Sylar quickly answered.

"Ok." Peter shrugged in acceptance. "But I don't get why me. I'm not mechanically inclined, you're the engineer, remember?"

"I don't know!" Sylar nearly growled. It was one of those times when his IA was not providing any explanation and he had to just take it on faith that it was correct, but to tell that to Peter was to admit that his system was somewhat flawed. Peter admirably didn't push the issue and for once Sylar was glad that he was just able to be comfortable with uncertainty and ambiguity. Any other time it would have been annoying to a fault the way he could just blindly accept what he didn't understand, but this time it was actually helpful.

When the lift doors opened into the engine rooms, Scotty greeted them with a sour look. "Ah don't know what you're supposed to do down here, but Ah can tell ya we're fairly well screwed."

Sylar looked around the room silently, taking in the way the pipes and wires ran, where connections were made, and how all of the systems were harnessed together to drive power to…the smoking hull at the far end of the room. "Is that the main drive of the ship?" He asked walking towards it mesmerized as his IA kicked into full gear.

"Aye, that's the warp core." Scotty confirmed with just a hint of love in his voice as if it was his child.

"And without this we go nowhere." Sylar surmised.

"Aye." He sighed despondently while Peter looked from one man to the other as though he were watching a tennis match but didn't understand the rules.

"Power…" Sylar mumbled pointing abstractly at the pipes and tracing them to the warp core as his mind spun together maps and theories. "Engine…Eureka." He calmly proclaimed with a small, self-satisfied smile on his lips.

"Beg your pardon?" Scotty asked a little offended that he should find a solution within five minutes of his arrival when he was the Chief Engineer. He really was taking the red shirt a little too seriously…

"I am assuming that the core works by generating enormous amounts of thermonuclear power which provides energy to coils here…" He hummed as though he didn't need confirmation- he knew he was right. "And from there?"

"The nacelles." Scotty informed with great pride.

"Well then. As I see it- and correct me if I am wrong," he paused to smile although he knew there would be no interruptions, "The damage to the core means it can't be turned on to create the thermonuclear reaction because it could completely rupture the casing, essentially causing a meltdown on the ship."

"A breach." Scotty corrected. "Take my word, not a good affair."

Sylar conceded the term with a casual shrug. "So in order to get out of this mess, we need to bypass the core."

"Aye, but how do ya' propose we do that? Rub sticks together?!" He asked flabbergasted at the simplicity. He was starting to think he wasting his time with this mad man.

"_You_ don't." Sylar said grimly. "_We_ do." He motioned to himself and Peter who looked wary.

Scotty's face lit up and he jumped up and down excitedly. "Aye, 'cause ya can create it! Damn brilliant!" He commended. "But can ya create enough?"

Sylar looked at Peter with determination. "I don't know, but he alone almost took out New York and I could probably do better- but together I think we might come close."

"Whatever." Peter sighed shaking out his arms in preparation as his hands softly glowed a warm yellow. "You took out Costa Verde and then some."

"What?" Sylar asked knitting his thick eyebrows in confusion.

"Another time." Peter smiled at his own double entendre and added, "If we are going to do this, let's get busy before the Romulans have another chance to blow us up. Scotty, I think it's probably best that you evacuate the area and seal it off if you can. We are about to release some intense radiation."

"Aye, but won't you need protection suits or…" He offered. He really didn't know how this was going to work.

"It won't hurt us, now go!" Sylar commanded as his hands also began to shine with yellow light.

While Scotty ran around the area yelling for everyone to get out, Sylar placed his hands on the coils just behind the core and Peter followed suit across from him. "Why are you doing this?" He asked with a crooked smile. "Helping other people. It isn't like you to give a damn about anyone but yourself."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence." Sylar sneered.

"Don't get me wrong," Peter quickly backpedaled, "I think it's awesome that you are able to figure it all out and fix the problem to be the hero, but I thought you wanted to be the bad guy."

"I guess I am more of an anti-hero." He mumbled. "Sometimes."

"Part time good guy." Peter smiled with an appreciative nod. "I'll take that."

"Peter," His smooth voice called darkly, "I am going to ask you a question and I expect you not to lie."

Peter felt a shock run through his body because this could not be good. What could he possibly want to know at a time like this?! More importantly, he felt it necessary to warn him not to lie because the answer was probably going to be one that he _should_ lie about even though he was terrible at it. "Ok…" He cautiously replied with an uncertain squint.

"Why didn't you leave me back on the mining planet?" He almost whispered.

Peter felt a wave of relief wash over him- at least it was an easy question for him to answer honestly. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Why did you save me from the Romulan that was going to kill us when we escaped?"

The corner of Sylar's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Why did you try to protect me from the bomb?"

Peter tiled his head and smiled at the game. "I don't know. Why did you get that guard off my back in the mine? Look, we could be at this all day. I don't know about you, but for me it just felt like the right thing to do."

Sylar nodded slowly. Of course he wouldn't _think_, he would _feel _and although he couldn't personally make sense of that mode of operating, he had to be satisfied with the answer because Peter was telling the truth.

"Right!" Scotty yelled out of breath from all the excitement. "Everyone's out. Good luck to ya'!" He saluted both men and locked them in with a hiss of the seal forming around the door.

"Ready?" Peter asked with a smile.

"Why am I doing this again?" Sylar asked rhetorically.

"Because it's the right thing to do." Peter stated emphatically. "It will come more naturally with practice."

"Right." Sylar declared doubtfully as he concentrated and both men were swallowed in a ball of fire as they gave it their best effort.

* * *

Up on the bridge, Sulu stared at his console in utter disbelief. The power meter was showing a steady rise as if the warp core were engaged, but he knew that was impossible. "Sir," he called still watching the increasing available power build, "we seem to have a malfunction in the readouts."

"How's that?" Jim asked keeping an eye on the shields from Spock's abandoned station. At least they were holding..for now.

"The stored energy is at 47% and climbing." He reported in a mystified tone. "It was at 16% just a minute ago."

"That can't be right." Uhura commented. "Even if the core was engaged, it wouldn't charge that fast."

"Hiro, Ando, I need you two to be useful for a minute." Jim stated in such an authoritarian tone the two immediately jumped up from their seats. "One of you come over here and watch this panel and tell me if it goes lower than 20." He directed pointing out the screen to Ando who took responsibility for the task. "Hiro, go down to sickbay and see if Chekov can return to duty. We will need him if those readouts are right."

"But Sir," Sulu objected, "they can't possibly be right."

"I have seen more incredible stuff in the last week than I have in my entire life." Jim replied. "And right now I am willing to believe that Sylar actually did something to help us. I don't know what, and really I don't care as long as it gets us the hell out of here."

Hiro nearly crashed into Scotty as the two fought to go in opposite directions at the lift. "Is it workin?" He asked breathlessly as he observed Ando's panel. "Oocht! Mon it is!" he howled in delight. "They're doin' it!" He pumped his fists in the air in celebration while everyone looked on in amusement.

"Who's doing what?" Sulu asked.

"Sylar an' Peter. They're powerin' the ship- together with the…" He shook his hands as though he were shooting electricity from them because in truth he didn't fully understand it himself, but at the moment all he cared about was the end result.

Jim smiled broadly at Sulu who just shook his head. "Prepare for warp."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu replied in an amused, yet defeated tone.


	48. Chapter 48 Pushing the Limits

**Chapter 48- Pushing the Limits**

Hiro stood awkwardly in the lift as it descended slowly…a little too slowly for the circumstances. As he casually looked around the brightly lit interior, it occurred to him that he could speed things up a great deal if he would just teleport to the hospital room, but that made him wonder about the extent of his powers. Dr. McCoy had made it abundantly clear even to a man who did not have a firm grasp on the English language that he was not allowed to do so for medical reasons, but surely the imminent danger that faced them all would be considered an exception wouldn't it? But what if he could do more?

He frowned as he considered the possibility that if he tried really hard he might be able to freeze time for the entire ship, extending their chances of survival as he quickly shuttled personnel to and from destinations. He could get Chekov in a flash- if he was able to report for duty- and…he sighed as he realized a major obstacle to his plan: the whole venture hinged on Sylar and Peter being able to sufficiently power the ship and there was no way he could risk being anywhere near them while they reenacted Kirby Plaza times two- he would be incinerated faster than he could teleport away. He was frustrated because he wanted to do more, he just wasn't sure how best to help other than to run errands for Mr. Kirk…_Jim_, he quickly chastised himself. It was generally rude to address someone by their first name, especially a person of authority, but he had been explicitly instructed to do so. It was just one of those odd American customs that he was still struggling to remember because it was so contrary to everything he had learned about etiquette in Japan.

He gave very quick bows and small smiles to the doctors he passed until he located the Russian man. "Mr. Chekov." He bowed deeply with a serious expression to convey the gravity of his mission before pushing up his glasses on his nose. "I have message from Mr…Jim." He stammered. It didn't sound right.

Chekov was equally confused. "You mean the Captain?" He asked wincing as he sat up.

"Yes." He again bowed although he wasn't really sure why he did- he had already fulfilled his initial obligation to do so. "He wishes you return to duty if you are able. You are needed for the mission."

"Oh! Da!" Chekov nodded eagerly. Under no circumstance would he ever entertain the thought of leaving sickbay without being discharged least he face the full force of Dr. McCoy's wrath, but in this instance he could always pass the blame to Jim as it seemed Hiro's message was more or less an order and let him sort it out with the surly doctor. He glanced over at Spock and realized he could probably just walk out and not be noticed as McCoy was completely absorbed with that business, so he carefully let himself down from the table, feet soundlessly and gingerly touching the floor and he quietly made his exit. He would have ran for the lift as soon as he reached the hallway if it weren't for the stabbing pain he still had in his side. He didn't tell Hiro, but the truth was he hadn't really been completely evaluated by the staff due to the constant addition of more serious cases. He wasn't a doctor himself, but he was operating on the assumption that if they didn't think he had any life threatening problems then he would guess he wasn't in danger of dying at his post in the next few hours of his injuries. If he was needed at his post he would go as long as he wasn't vomiting blood or missing a limb or anything else equally prohibitive. Well...maybe.

He reached the bridge and took his seat with purpose, only pausing to give his Captain a brief salute. Jim looked him over and smiled. The scrappy little Russian looked like hell and he could tell that he wasn't 100%, but he also knew there was no place he would rather be and only a direct order for dismissal would make him budge from his duties now. He watched Sulu greet his friend with a welcoming yet knowing smile and he wondered how in the hell he got so lucky to have such a dedicated crew.

* * *

Down in the engine rooms, Peter and Sylar were not having such a good time. Both men could feel their flesh peeling from their bodies as the radiation tore at their skin, blistering and searing hot. Still, both had the presence of mind to concentrate on the task at hand, whether or not that was a good thing was a matter of debate when they wanted nothing more than to just pass out to avoid the pain and let their respective healing abilities take over. In fact, that was probably the only thing keeping them conscious, and Sylar for one began to wonder if having the ability to regenerate was such a good power since his couldn't quite keep up with the damage he was causing.

Peter held onto the coils even though he really couldn't feel his hands anymore. He didn't dare look for fear that all he would see were two skeletonized sets of bones or worse, nothing at all. Phantom limb was a well known phenomenon and he wouldn't have been surprised if his brain still believed he had hands when they had in fact been vaporized long ago. For that matter, he wasn't really sure how much of his body remained- perhaps he physically was no more, existing only as pure consciousness. The only thing he was sure of was that after Kirby Plaza, he swore to himself that he would never again use his radioactive ability for numerous reasons, yet here he was shining brighter than ever.

Of course things had changed since the showdown with Sylar and the moment they shared was proof of concept: they were using their most destructive power not to kill each other, but to work together for the greater good. Although that had always been Peter's personal prime directive, things had gone horribly wrong that night and he was almost the harbinger of death for so many innocent people. He couldn't control the burning explosion he felt growing inside of him and it was only thanks to Nathan- always Johnny on the spot when it truly mattered- that disaster was mostly adverted. But still, Nathan had suffered terribly for his decision. He burned just as Peter was now, but he didn't have the ability to heal. He had almost lost his big brother and that would have hurt worse than anything he ever could have imagined. And then there was the grand finale- the big boom in the sky when the power finally got the better of him and he exploded. Even now, he couldn't really explain what that actually felt like to anyone because no other person on the face of the Earth had experienced a similar feeling. Maybe those who had been struck by lightning might have some clue, but all he could say was that he was keenly aware of his body being scattered to the winds as it more or less shredded into bits, yet he wasn't really dead. Something of himself remained while he fell back to the ground, his…_essence _if such a thing had a name. That was why it wasn't so hard for him to believe that he currently had no body left yet could still remain.

Sylar was having no such existentialthoughts. Not that he wasn't capable of self reflection and deep introspection in his free time, of which he usually had plenty, it just generally wasn't in his nature to second guess himself. Once he settled on a course of action he followed it through with all due diligence and determination and this was no exception. He knew what he was doing would work, of that there was no question. What he hadn't anticipated was the sheer amount of force and concentration it would demand of him and he fought equally hard to remain conscious and to direct all the energy he could create into the coils. Never in his life had he engaged in such a test of sustained endurance and it reminded him of the seemingly endless rounds of testing he was forced to participate in at the hands of Bennet. He lived through that nightmare, he reminded himself, and he would survive this as well even if his efforts ultimately failed. If nothing else, he couldn't let Peter outdo him, so for him there was no try, only do and he pushed on even though he felt dizzy and blood poured from his nose, down his face and dripped off his chin at an alarming rate.

* * *

Claire sat on the edge of Mohinder's desk casually swinging her feet while she watched him labor over the microscope. Chekov had mysteriously disappeared, and she had the distinct impression that she should hang close for Spock's sake if Mohinder couldn't be successful on his first attempt which was looking fairly likely at the moment. She had tentatively approached Nathan's bedside to check on him, but he was fast asleep and she thought better of disturbing him even though he would have insisted he didn't mind. A nurse assigned to him assured her that he would be fine, he just needed to rest so she returned to Mohinder's lab until a better time to visit him presented itself. "Something wrong?" She asked when Mohinder sighed deeply.

He turned to her and gave his best polite smile because it wasn't her fault this was all so difficult. "I suppose there is." He admitted rubbing his tired eyes. "The truth is, Claire, when I used your blood in the Shanti vaccine, I didn't parse it out. I just mixed the whole blood with my antibodies, but that won't work this time and I am back at square one as to what exactly makes your powers work- or any of yours for that matter."

She absentmindedly looked over at the wall at the black and white karyotypes and pointed to one with a white band circled in red. "Looks like you were onto something."

He wanted to tear the film down in frustration and rip it up. It was so promising yet all so wrong. "Yes, I thought I was. But now I'm not so sure." He nearly laughed at the irony of it all. Leave it to Sylar to offer a glimmer of hope and then take it all away with a sudden yank and evil smirk. Add the contamination to his apparent refusal to leave any other form of DNA, even accidentally, and the man's cruelty seemed to know no bounds.

"Well, I'm no doctor," she said slowly, "but is the whole matching thing really that important? I mean, my blood has been given to Sylar and my dad and I'm just guessing we don't share the same type."

Mohinder's eyes lit up as he exclaimed, "Claire! That's brilliant!" before running out into the main area with her in tow to find out what was so wonderful about her idea. "Dr. McCoy," he smiled, "I believe I have a solution to your dilemma."

"Wonderful." McCoy groused. "I'm a doctor, not a mind reader! Now cut the proper niceties and spit it out, I ain't got all day here."

"Yes, of course." He agreed looking at Spock's ashen complexion. "I don't believe it will cause complications if you give Claire's blood to Mr. Spock. We have done transfusions before with evolved and non-evolved humans and there were no complications even without type matching. I believe this is probably due to the healing factor that precludes an autoimmune reaction."

"But if I give her blood to him, will the healing thing stick?" He asked skeptically.

"Um…" Mohinder paused.

"It didn't for me." Noah spoke up. "You used her blood on me after you shot me in the eye."

"Yes, about that," he replied hastily, "I truly am sorry. I thought…"

"It's ok." Noah smiled as if it were just another day at the office for him.

"Wait, you shot him?" McCoy asked Mohinder. "Jesus! What is with you people? One minute you are friends and then the next you are trying to kill the other person and then you team up again to go after someone else. It's like some goddamn soap opera with you people. Can't you just pick your friends and stick with them?"

"I think we are friends now, right?" Mohinder asked apprehensively. The corner of Noah's mouth twitched on his otherwise expressionless face. "Well, you did lure _me_ into a van and stab me in the crotch with the paralyzer thing!" He defended. "That hurt!"

"And then you, Peter, and Matt duct taped me to a chair and tortured me for hours as I recall." Noah retorted coolly.

"We had to know about building 26!" Mohinder wailed. "It wasn't as if you would just willingly chat about it, now would you?!"

"Seriously." Matt shrugged. "He has a point and if you remember, he was the one who wasn't cool with it and tried to take me down." He chuckled and glanced back at Mohinder. "Got rolled by the fat man, didn't ya?"

"Guys!" McCoy growled. "Can we just get on with this before he dies on my table while you three bicker like old women?"

"Right." Mohinder declared, glaring at Noah as he went to his lab to retrieve the vial containing Claire's blood. Noah held his stare with his icy blue eyes, neither intimidated nor apologetic.

McCoy took the syringe from Mohinder and never had he felt more like a kindergarten teacher at recess than he had then. "Alright," he sighed inserting the needle into a vein in Spock's arm, "let's hope this works because I think this is our last shot." With that proclamation he slowly injected the purely human blood into Spock's body and watched the monitors nervously for any sign of rejection, but there was none. In fact, nothing happened and his heart sank. He didn't know how he was going to break the news to Jim that despite everything, Spock wasn't going to make it and probably only had a few hours at best left to live before his organs began to shut down permanently.

There was a sense of despair that hung heavy in the room. It seemed everyone just knew, most of all Claire who felt desperate and confused as to why she couldn't come through when she was most needed. Was his body really that much different that her blood didn't work for him? As she watched him breathe much too slowly to sustain life, she suddenly felt sorrow and grief for the alien man. Suddenly, because she was literally a part of him now, she felt responsible and regretted avoiding him because he reminded her of Sylar. He was nothing like the man she hated so much, nothing at all like him and if nothing else he did try to stick with Peter while he was being held hostage and that was worth the world to her. He probably had his own reasons for doing so, but it benefitted her nonetheless and for that she was grateful to the pointed eared man. It was no surprise, then, that she nearly squealed when she watched his dark eyes slowly open, languid yet determined.

"Spock!" McCoy shouted. "You're alive!"

"Obviously." He deadpanned in a low and slow tone. "An animated corpse would be illogical."


	49. Chapter 49 ER

****REPOST** I don't know what happened, but the last few paragraphs of this chapter didn't make the cut! Here is the complete chapter…sigh….**

**Chapter 49- ER**

Ando stared at the small screen that Jim had assigned to him almost unblinking. He gathered that the number on the panel had something to do with the invisible shield that protected the ship, and he knew he had to tell the Captain if it ever went below 20, but other than that he had no comprehension of exactly what he was doing. But he faithfully watched because he had a feeling his job was very important and he was nothing if not the master of dutifully executing mundane tasks. Of course he would have liked to do more like maybe attack the ugly alien with a sword to save the day, but the last time he tried to swordfight with Sylar it didn't end very well and Sylar didn't even have a weapon to defend himself with. He instinctively grabbed onto the console when the ship shook again and the number on the screen took a temporary dive from 47 to 22.

"Scotty!" Jim called fixing his eyes on the ship on the screen. "Is there any way we can fire and warp at the same time?"

"Unbelievable." Scotty mumbled with a sour look on his face as he worked on a panel next to Ando. "The things Ah get asked ta' do. A magician is what Ah am apparently." He frantically pushed buttons and peppered the electronics with insults until he was satisfied. "Ya' ain't got much, but you are a go providin' the boys can keep it up down there."

Jim turned slightly in his chair confused until he remembered that the ship was currently being powered by the efforts of two superhumans in the engine room. "Sulu, what have we got?"

"About enough for one round of photon torpedoes and _maybe_ a jump to the alpha quadrant." He reported.

"I agree." Chekov nodded. "Ve vill probably not quite make it to the neutral zone, but ve vill be close."

"Close will have to do it then. Set a course for Klingon airspace. We have to drop off our guests anyway and hopefully they can help us out if the Romulans decide to give chase." Jim sighed pushing a button on the arm of his chair. "Bridge to engineering. Sylar, Peter, how you guys holding up?" His only answer was a determined growl and he knew they couldn't hold out much longer. It was a miracle that they had done as much as they had, he didn't feel right asking any more of them. "You guys are doing a great job. Just hang on a little longer and we will be gone."

"Hurry." Came Peter's voice. He sounded weak and tired, but determined.

"Scotty, we have to help them out." Jim declared. "Leave sickbay online- I'm sure Bones needs the power but cut it to all other areas of the ship. I only want sickbay, the photon banks, and the nacelles running. We have to squeeze out every bit we can. Sulu, when he gets done, fire a round and get us out of here."

"Aye, Sir." He responded with his best war face as he aimed the munitions directly at Mendak's ship. "Firing." His reflexes were fast and certain because he had flown the ship away before the torpedoes even had time to find their target. In what seemed like seconds, they were floating peacefully in the darkness of space, apparently alone.

"Sulu, use the thrusters to limp us across the finish line. You have the com." Jim smiled. Safety was only a few parsecs away… "Scotty, I want to get down to the engine rooms if it is safe and check on our human generators."

"Aye, Sir." He took another glance at the power meter and noticed it was no longer moving and that didn't sit well with him. In the lift, he turned to Jim and exclaimed, "Bloody exciting, isn't it? But how are we gonna explain this all in our report? Ah mean, we can't very well say two magical people powered the ship!"

Jim looked at his chief engineer and laughed desperately as his eyes twinkled. "I don't have a damn clue about what we are going to tell them at this point. We have way too much to explain and I'll worry about that when the time comes." He shook his head and smiled broadly. "I can always just tell them the truth. They will think I fell off my rocker, but I can always blame it on Bones. I can say I had a bad reaction to some medicine he gave me. It wouldn't be the first time, you know."

"Oh, Aye." Scotty mildly agreed. "He's something of a terrorist with the hypo thing, ain't he?"

"You have no idea." He chuckled remembering how his hands and tongue swelled to enormous proportions from the sand flea inoculation back at the academy and all of the following injections to counteract his symptoms. When they reached the door to the main engine rooms, he cautiously peered through the window and looked around, but saw nothing. "Where did they go?" He wondered aloud.

"Well they bloody well didn't mosey on out to the cafeteria for a sandwich, now did they?" He asked. "The door's still locked- from the outside Ah might add."

Jim rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean jack. Sylar can unlock doors by twitching his finger or Peter could have just teleported them to the other side." He had personally witnessed both.

"Oh, Aye. Forgot about that bit." He had a look see for himself, but came up with the same result. "They were right back there by the coils." He murmured. "Ya don't think they disintegrated do ya?"

"How the hell would I know?" Jim shrugged. "When we tested them they didn't burn up, but that was for a very short time. God knows what could have happened for as long as they were at it."

"Sylar told me it wouldn't hurt them…" Scotty trailed off. Was the killer lying to him? If so, both he and Peter were now martyrs and while that seemed in character for Peter it didn't fit the bill for Sylar. "Computer," Scotty called, "where are Peter Petrelli and Sylar?"

"Peter Petrelli and Sylar are located in the main engine room." The voice coolly responded.

"Ok, let's go get them." Jim sighed reaching for a silver fire suit that would protect him from the ambient radiation that was sure to linger in the room. As soon as they entered, Scotty began the internal decontamination program that would filter the air and that was a good thing in Jim's book because the entire room smelled like burned flesh and it was absolutely sickening. Worse even than the burned Klingon he came face to face with on Koth's ship- this was far worse, but it was nothing compared to the sight of the two men when he found them laying on the floor behind the warp core, nothing more than charred bodies burned beyond recognition and a small pool of blood by the head of one of the bodies that appeared to have a very serious nosebleed. Despite his revulsion, he kneeled by them and called their names to no avail. He even reached out to touch a crispy arm, of who he couldn't tell, but got no response. He looked at the soot covered fingers of his glove and wondered if he was too late. "Kirk to medical!" He yelled desperately. "I have two badly burned victims in the engine rooms. I need assistance now!"

Scotty, hearing the uncharacteristic panic in his captain's voice, came running but stopped short at the terrible sight. "Ocht, Mon!" He gasped. "Ah don't think there's much we can do for 'em." He quietly observed. "Powers or no, Ah cannae imagine they could come back from that."

"I don't know either, Scotty, but we have to try." Jim replied resolutely. "I have watched them both come back from the dead before. Who's to say they can't do it again?" He looked over the men and realized that in both instances they had a sharp object lodged in the backs of their heads and that didn't appear to be the case this time, but he didn't have a clue who it all worked- he just hoped it would again.

It seemed he got his wish when one of the bodies stirred and opened shockingly white eyes that contrasted with the blackened skin. Jim almost fell backward in shock and horror and Scotty did let out a little shriek despite himself. The milky white faded and was replaced by dull hazel and Jim found himself regretting his wish: it was apparent just by the look in the eye that he was in incredible pain and now he found himself wishing he would again fall unconscious. To do nothing seemed inhumane and it made him sick to watch him suffer, but there was nothing he could do but wait for medical.

When McCoy did arrive, all he could do was look down and whisper, "My God" and doubt his ability to do anything other than to sedate them until their own healing fixed them or death came. Neither could come soon enough in his estimation.

Nathan slowly and carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position on his bed. His head still hurt like hell, but he could think more clearly and as long as he had his wits about him he could deal with everything else. Everything except the uneasy feeling in the pit of his gut that told him something was dreadfully wrong. He knew the feeling very well- well enough to know that it wasn't just nausea- he had that feeling when Peter was somehow in trouble and it was stronger now than ever before.

"Hey." Claire smiled as she approached cautiously. "Look who's finally awake."

Nathan smiled reflexively at his daughter because he knew he should, but he was a little preoccupied with what was going on inside. If she became suspicious, he planned to tell her that he was still a little groggy and it was after all a viable excuse. "Yeah, I'm back." He shrugged. "Hey, do you know where Peter is?" He asked cutting right to the chase but pretending it was an innocent inquiry. It hopefully wouldn't seem strange that he would ask for his brother from his hospital bed- it was no secret they were close.

"He was here, but he went with Sylar to the engine room." She replied. The tone in her voice told him she wasn't exactly comfortable with the circumstances and that only further raised his suspicions. What if Sylar was exacting revenge on Peter at that very moment? Even though he appeared mostly stoic when he found out he was going to be sacrificed, as he was about most everything no matter how serious, Nathan could almost see the seething anger just below the surface and no matter his attempts at remaining cool on the exterior, it was obvious that this slight would not go unanswered.

He leaped from his bed, nearly crashing into a nurse who attempted to stop him and made a mad dash for the doors. He didn't exactly know where the engine rooms were, but he wasn't about to let that stop him if his brother was potentially at the hands of a deranged killer. He didn't have to go far to have his worst fears confirmed. He jumped aside just as McCoy and other medical staff ran through the sickbay with a badly burned body on a floating stretcher. He watched in horror as they gently but quickly transferred the poor bastard to a bed and he just instinctively knew that it was Peter. There were only a scant few patches of raw, angry red skin among the charred flesh but he knew without a doubt that it was his brother and he ran to him as McCoy was drawing up a hypo of medications that he hoped would put him out for the duration. "Pete?" Nathan called as he gingerly reached out to touch his face, but he drew back for fear it would hurt him more. "Jesus, Pete! What happened to you?" He was on the verge of tears and angry with himself for not heeding his instincts. If he would have reacted faster, maybe he could have helped in some way.

Peter slowly opened his eyes and focused on his brother. He was healing, but slowly and although the pain was blinding he tried to smile as much as his damaged muscles would allow to hopefully let his brother know that everything was alright.

However, to Nathan the smile looked more like a grimace and the guilt nearly ate him alive. "Did Sylar do this to you?" He nearly growled. "God so help me I will kill him or die trying."

"Coming through!" Jim yelled as a second burned body arrived which he helped carry. The staff stripped Nathan's bed and reused it for the new arrival. It was just as well, his new post was at his brother's side and it seemed the casualties were piling up fast.

"Right." McCoy grumbled looking over Peter's decimated flesh in search of a useable area to insert the hypo.

"Wait." Matt called rushing to Peter's side apparently listening to him. "He wants you to work on Sylar first." He sighed. "He said he is much worse. Uh…rules of triage."

McCoy growled. "Don't tell me how to triage, kid. I know the rules!" He was angry, but he knew Peter was right so he reluctantly went to Sylar's aid.

"Pete, why?" Nathan asked incredulously as he glanced at Noah who held Claire tightly. She stared at her uncle in terror as if he were some kind of monster. "No one gives a damn about him, he deserves to suffer for everything he has done to us- to you!"

Matt tilted his head slightly and spoke for Peter. "He didn't do this to me. He saved us all, Nathan. He was the hero today and the rules of medicine don't favor one life over another. I'll be fine."

"Jesus, Pete! When are you ever going to stop being the martyr and start looking out for yourself?!" Nathan chided. "That man is a killer and whatever he did today does not forgive everything he has done. He does not give a damn about you or anyone else but himself and he is lying if he says different. I know his kind, Pete, he will say or do anything to get what he wants and right now he has convinced you that he can be good and he wants to change, but it's a trap, Pete! You or any of us will only be as important to him as we are useful and he won't hesitate to throw us away when he is done."

McCoy listened to Nathan's rant and he couldn't completely disagree with the man, he was talking sense, but he felt differently when Sylar slowly turned his head away with a despondent look in his dark eyes and the doctor felt guilty for not sedating him sooner. Sometimes emotional pain can be worse than physical and although the meds couldn't really help with that, they would at least make him mercifully unaware for a time. And from all that he had learned from Noah, the man didn't really need any more trauma heaped on him than he already had. Psychopath or not, McCoy had to believe that somewhere deep down in the man's soul there had to be something left that still had feelings and it was his duty as a doctor to relieve suffering when he could. No matter what the man may or may not be guilty of it wasn't his place to judge him, but he did need help and he was determined to provide it.

Normally Sylar was made of stronger stuff and he would have refused the medications forcefully if he had to, but in his current condition all he prayed for was relief. He didn't think of himself as weak for wanting mercy in this case because he had withstood far more than any man could and of that he was proud. He had gone the distance and pushed himself further than even he thought he was capable of, but his body screamed in pain which brought back too many bad memories to abide. Aside from the radiation damage, his very soul hurt at Nathan's words even though they were true. It was all the confirmation he needed that redemption would never be attainable for him no matter what he did. A small part of him mourned being summarily written off because he once was a good person and he could be again if he really tried, but he had burned too many bridges and was forced to forever wander the world alone for the choices he had made. He could man up and accept responsibility for his actions, but forever was a very long time to be alone he thought as the medications took effect and his deep brown eyes drifted shut.

Spock watched the entire spectacle from his bed with Mohinder still at his side. Since Jim was present, he surmised that they had made a successful escape from the Romulans but despite his initially low estimation of success, somehow he was not surprised by the outcome. If there was any being in the universe that could pull something like that off- repeatedly even- it was Jim. If he was stranded on a deserted planet with only a gum wrapper and a bit of string somehow he would still manage to devise a plan that worked and it was this incalculable x factor that was both a source of frustration and amusement to him. Spock never counted on luck in any of his endeavors; there was only hedged bets, contingency plans and probabilities to be considered, but far be it from him to question it if he were standing within range of Jim's magical sphere of logic bending luck if he was a benefactor as he was this time. Knowing Jim as he did, though, he realized that it wasn't all luck; Jim was probably the smartest, most cunning human he had ever had contact with and many of his plans which appeared harebrained on the surface were actually well thought out and took a considerable amount of nerve to execute. No doubt that was the case this time as well, although if he bothered to inquire about it Jim would casually shrug it off as no big deal.

Mohinder tore his eyes away from Sylar long enough to focus on his charge. "How are you feeling, Spock?" He asked with genuine concern. Perhaps he should have been a medical doctor, he had been told many times that he had a great bedside manner, he just didn't have the nerve for the job. Somehow manipulating tiny fragments of human building blocks seemed like much less pressure but could potentially be just as important as he was finding out the more he furthered his father's work.

Spock's initial reaction was to give a report on the functioning of his nervous system, but he understood that humans sometimes were imprecise with their inquiries and Dr. Suresh probably meant it as a general status update. "I believe the treatment I have received has been beneficial." He replied when in truth it was a bit more than that. He could never recall feeling stronger or more whole than he did then.

"Fantastic." Mohinder beamed. "You know, we were a bit uncertain as to how it would affect you. Dr. McCoy had reservations about giving you a direct transfusion, but it really was our only option. We almost lost you, my friend." Spock was silent long enough for Mohinder to become nervous. "I…I'm sorry, did we violate a religious code or…?" He stammered. He knew there were some people who objected to transfusions and other medical interventions based on religious beliefs and he felt guilty for never even considering it in Spock's case…if he even knew what his preferences were…

"I have no such prohibitions." Spock finally answered. "But I am curious as to what treatment was given as I was apparently so close to death." He had his suspicions, but he wanted confirmation.

"Claire's blood has healing properties and she volunteered to give it to you." He explained. Claire turned her head to them at the sound of her own name and he motioned for her to come. Reluctantly, she ended her vigil of her now comatose uncle to see the alien man. It wasn't like Nathan was letting anyone near him anyway while he hovered over him, nervously smoothing down the sheets or fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on while he watched his brother's skin slowly regenerate.

"Hello." She said with a shy smile. Even though she now felt differently about him, it was still hard to look into his eyes, dark and absorbing just like Sylar's except his held no malice- just curiosity if anything.

"Greetings." He nodded slightly. The tone of his voice was more or less neutral with just a hint of friendliness, like he was guarded and a little apprehensive too. "It appears I owe you my gratitude for the rapid improvement of my condition."

"It was no big deal, really." She blushed. She wasn't exactly used to being the hero and even less comfortable with being recognized for her efforts.

"If by 'no big deal' you mean to say that you had only a minimal part in assisting me in my recovery then I would have to disagree." He replied somewhat jokingly. He didn't mean to make her feel uncomfortable, but she really was being illogical. "I believe it was your ability that was the deciding factor."

"Really?" Jim asked as he approached. He knew it made him look like a shameless eavesdropper, but he didn't care in the least- not when there was a good story afoot. "So you gave him your blood and everything's back to neat?" He asked amazed.

She was even more embarrassed than before, especially because it was Jim who was interested. "Yeah well, that's how it works." She shrugged. "That's what I do."

Before he could go on, Sulu's voice echoed through the room. "Bridge to Captain Kirk, we have visitors. You might wanna get back up here for this."


	50. Chapter 50 Sympathy for the Devil

**A/N: For those that missed it, I reposted chapter 49 because it was missing a few paragraphs. This one looks complete though…lol. Thanks to all of you who are still following the story! I know it is moving slowly but I really am trying to tie up all the loose ends. Cheers!**

**Chapter 50- Sympathy for the Devil**

Dr. McCoy went to great lengths to ensure both of his patients were sufficiently sedated for as long as it took for their respective healing abilities to right the extensive damage they had undergone. He couldn't believe his ears when Scotty explained to him exactly what the hell happened to cause such damage and in reality he was utterly mystified as to why Sylar of all people would volunteer for such a duty. He kept his suspicions to himself, but he just knew that deep down he was a different man than he generally let on- so he was right to think that under all of that brooding and apparent evil lie something decisively honorable. Why did it seem like he was the only one who could see it?!

Nathan paced slowly and methodically by Peter's bed like a rabid dog ready to spring on the next unfortunate person that happened by. McCoy noted his agitation and debated whether or not he should make himself a target since he could certainly get as well as he could give and he would for sure put Nathan back on a stretcher if he snapped at any of his staff. There were just some things Bones wouldn't tolerate in his sickbay and abuse of his staff by anyone else but him was one of them. He finally decided to take the middle road and pretend to check the monitors above Peter's bed and see if Nathan would take the bait so he could deescalate the situation before it came to blows. This was a truly magnanimous gesture coming from the normally sour doctor because Nathan had been glaring viciously at him ever since he treated Sylar before Peter- but he was dammed if he was going to apologize for that- Peter was right after all.

"How is he, Doc?" Nathan asked in a surprisingly neutral tone, although it was clear he really didn't need a status report- he had two eyes and could clearly see that his brother was improving slowly but steadily.

"It will probably take a little while, even for him." McCoy squinted. "It's a miracle we're even having this conversation. By all rights he should be dead."

"He might have been." Nathan snarled. "I don't care what he says, he was in no condition to make medical decisions on his own. You should have ignored his wishes and treated him anyway. Hell, I could have given the green light as his next of kin!"

"You could have," McCoy ground out, "but it wasn't necessary. I understand it's probably hard for you to see him like this, but there are rules to running this sickbay and Sylar was the more serious of the two- therefore he gets treatment first."

Nathan's eyes flashed with barely controlled rage. "_That_ man," he hissed jabbing a finger in Sylar's direction, "is a lunatic! He can go to hell for all I care. Wait until he kills or harms someone you love then come back and tell me about your precious rules."

"He was going to kill me." McCoy drawled in a low growl, "He had me strung up on a wall like a fish he was planning on gutting, but you know what? I'm still his doctor and he is still my patient no matter what I personally think of him. Be thankful for that because I think you are an insufferable ass, but I didn't hesitate to see to you when your brains were all scrambled up there." He scowled hard at Nathan, almost daring him to go on and wisely he didn't. "And I'll tell you something else." He continued. This had always been his problem and the primary reason he and his wife were no longer together: when he decided to give someone a piece of his mind, it never came in small servings. "You can't tell me that you are such an ingrate that you can't see that what they both did saved everyone on this ship. That's almost 420 lives, mister. Now tell me you would have had the balls to stand down there and fry yourself to a crisp knowing damn well that not one person was going to thank you for it, cause that's exactly what he did and you can't even bring yourself to give the man some peace. He might have been a bastard in the past, but he was a hero today and the here and now is the only thing that ever matters. I'm not saying you have to go over there and kiss his crispy ass, but how about showing a little respect for the man who saved your miserable life?"

Matt was so impressed he began clapping with a huge smile on his face. Not so much because he agreed with Dr. McCoy, but he absolutely loved watching someone rip Nathan a new one. He had never before seen it, would have liked to have done it himself on several occasions, but was glad he witnessed someone finally step up and read him the riot act…and apparently get away with it, at least for the time being.

Mohinder and Claire moved away from Spock and stood by Sylar's bed, looking down at the man they had hated for so long that they had been blinded by it. He too was slowly healing and the beginnings of familiar facial features were starting to form- his full lips and the start of his thick yet meticulously maintained eyebrows. A new patch of skin connected the tender covering of his eyelids across the bridge of his nose and Claire hesitantly reached out to lightly run her finger across it- drawn by some strange compulsion to touch the boogeyman's face while he was still harmless perhaps just to prove to herself that he was indeed human and not some soulless demon spawn from hell. She half expected him to bite her finger, but he remained still- completely unaware of her presence, the shallow rise and fall of his chest along with the quiet blip of his heartbeat on the monitor the only indication that he was still alive. "It's so soft." She mumbled as though she expected something different.

"Well, it is new skin." Mohinder replied a bit uncomfortably. "Something like a newborn I would imagine." He frowned as he contemplated the entire process. "You know, being new, I imagine it will feel rather tight at first and very sensitive until the outer layers have time to desensitize. With the dermal layer being so thin I would also think that much like an infant he will have difficulty regulating his body temperature as well."

"Are you going to wrap him up in a blanket and bottle feed him?" Nathan howled from across the room. "If anyone cares, Pete is having the same problem over here."

"Of course we care." Claire stated as she leveled eyes with her father. "But it looks like you have things well under control. I think I might best be of help over here."

"Claire," Nathan scoffed, "you can't be serious. You of all people…"

"Hate him as much as everyone else." She finished with a nod of the head. "But Dr. McCoy was right. Today he saved my life and no one is here for him the one time he needs it- the one time that he really needs someone to show some compassion. I guess today that person will have to be me. Yes, I hate him for what he did to me, but today I will be here so he has someone to wake up to so he isn't alone."

Although under normal circumstances Noah would have forbid her from such an insane chore, his heart swelled at what a conscientious, generous young woman she had grown up to become. She was willing to put aside her own feelings for Sylar for the greater good and he couldn't have been more proud of her. True, his own personal distaste for the killer put him firmly in the same camp with Nathan regarding his unworthiness of her kindness, but from what he knew of Gabriel Gray the man, this was maybe the one thing that he never had- and partly the reason for what he had become. Maybe…just _maybe_ if someone would have shown him some genuine kindness and taken a healthy interest in the young man's life he may have turned out differently. And just maybe if she stuck with him, her act of generosity may have some impact on him for the better. At any rate, Noah left her to her grand experiment in part because he knew that Sylar would not try to harm her when he woke up. He couldn't imagine someone feeling up to no good the moment they opened their eyes after essentially being at the core of a nuclear reactor, but one never could tell with Sylar.

Up on the bridge, Jim stood shoulder to shoulder with Sulu looking at the array of Romulan ships that seemed to stretch to infinity and beyond. How things could go to hell so quickly was beyond him. He was gone 15 minutes tops and they were well on their way to hell in a hand basket with no superhumans to power the ship this time. Although he was trying his best to hide it, Chekov was clutching his ribs and stifling a nasty cough every now and again, but it didn't escape Jim's attention. Spock was probably well enough to be called back to duty and he couldn't think of a better time for his analytical skills than then. No matter what Spock could contribute, it all amounted to the Maru on steroids and even Jim the Miraculous couldn't see a way out of this one. He had never surrendered in his life- for anything. No matter the odds, he always came out swinging, but he had the lives of his crew to think about and for the first time ever, he prepared to give Uhura the order to surrender. It was a complete crap shoot that would almost certainly end in the deaths of at least himself and Spock, but knowing the Romulans they would slaughter most of the crew and the Klingons- taking a select few back as slaves. At least a few would survive, he thought grimly. Not many, and their lives would be brutally short, but to stand and fight would doom them all. Sometimes, there simply was no win-win and he had to choose between the lesser of two evils.

"This is bad." Ando whispered to Hiro. "Very very bad."

"It is." Hiro agreed typically stoic. "But the path of the hero is never easy. There are great obstacles that must be overcome."

"How do you overcome _that_?!" He asked gesturing the screen.

"We run." Hiro quietly replied.

"Do we just hope they run out of gas?" Ando asked half laughing. "Besides, I don't think _we_ have any gas to run with!"

"Ando," Hiro turned to his friend with a dead serious expression on his face, "all this time, haven't you wanted to do something more than to run errands or watch numbers on a screen? Peter and Sylar have got us this far, now we must be the heroes and do our part."

"What are you talking about?" Ando asked in awe. "How?"

"Sometimes heroes work together to defeat the enemy. I am too weak to teleport the ship on my own, but you can use your power to help. Together we can move the people to safety." Ando's eyes lit up and a wide smile cut across his face. Yes, in fact he had always wanted to be the hero- and not just Robin to Hiro's Batman either- he wanted to be an equal partner and his unique ability would help save the day. The Crimson Arc would have his day after all! The two approached Chekov at his station and quietly inquired about a safe place to jump to.

Jim noticed the odd gathering and cleared his throat. "What's going on down there? Care to let me in on it? Cause hey, you know, I'm just the Captain here."

Hiro stood up straight and bowed. "Sorry, Mr. Jim. I mean no dishonor. I think we can help."

"None taken." Jim smiled. He would never get used to the bowing thing and asking him to stop probably wouldn't be effective anyway. He couldn't seem to comply with just calling him Jim without putting a proper title in front of it. "I'd love to hear any ideas you got."

"We can teleport the ship to a safe place away from the bad men." Hiro stated pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I just need to know where to go."

"Wait," Jim shook his head, "you are going to take the whole ship? Does Bones know about this? Cause I think I remember him specifically saying your head will explode or something like that."

"No, not explode." Hiro replied although he did remember there being some bad connotation to the doctor's warning. "But even so, I die with honor if it saves many lives. Ando will help me. Togeher we will help."

Jim put his hands on his hips and sighed. Some days it just didn't pay to be a starship captain. The alternative Hiro proposed was still not a win-win if he was going to suffer irreparable harm in the process, but at least it was better than his own plan and although he knew he would face the wrath of McCoy, he agreed. "Alright. Chekov, give them what they need to get us out of here."

"Aye, Captain." Chekov half spoke, half coughed as he pointed to a star system on his charts while Ando's hand began to glow a soft pink and a sick feeling churned in Jim's stomach.


	51. Chapter 51 Frenemies

**A/N: Let's all wail together in mourning as our favorite heroes will not return in the fall. We will never know if Sylar could ever be good, if the Petrellis will survive, what will become of Ando & Hiro or what the world's reaction to Claire's revelation would have been. BWAHHHH! They tease us with a volume 5 (the coincidentally named "Brave New World") only to jerk the rug out from under us. I officially hate NBC… **

**Chapter 51- Frenemies**

Mendak couldn't believe his eyes. The Enterprise was directly ahead, nearly crippled and according to his readings, almost without defenses. And then it just vanished, and it wasn't like it warped away either. The ship did not have enough power to run the lights in the interior hallways, let alone fuel a massive reaction like a warp drive. But aside from this obvious problem, there was no wash left behind in the fabric of space with which to track them. All was dark and still in the empty space before him- the federation ship had simply blinked out of existence.

Even after several furious calls to the captains of his supporting armada, no one could quite come up with a plausible explanation of what they had all just witnessed. Several theories about cloaking devices and temporal black holes were bandied about, but Mendak kept his suspicions to himself. What the others didn't know was that the Enterprise held two powerful magicians that likely aided them in their escape, although exactly how was a mystery. All he knew was that his sensors were of little use and he had to go on sheer intuition. If he were in Kirk's situation and had his inferior sensibilities, he would run to the nearest ally for support. In this case, it was the Klingons which were not exactly Federation allies, but they were firm enemies of the Romulans. And as the old Earth saying went, the enemies of my enemies are my friends. And where was he most likely to find the most protection than the heart of the Klingon empire, Qo'noS?

Even though he knew it was suicide, he ordered his army to set a course for the Klingon home world and prepared for a glorious battle and honorable death. With his family name dishonored by his treacherous father, he really had no choice but to redeem it. He would come home a hero or die trying.

Jim didn't really know what to expect, but the whole thing seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. He looked around the bridge and it was as if nothing had changed except the Romulan armada on the screen was now replaced with a looming planet and a floating space station that he recognized as Klingon construction. Sulu looked equally in awe and Uhura smiled widely when she realized Hiro's plan had worked. Somehow the little man and his friend had moved what amounted to a small island to a new location with nothing more than some fuzzy pink energy and squinted eyes.

"Yatta!" Hiro yelled with his fists in the air when he took in the screen. Chekov shook his head in wonder at the man and chuckled to himself.

"We did it, Hiro!" Ando yelled excitedly as he jumped up and down with joy.

"Yes you did." Jim beamed as he approached to shake the men's hands. "Thanks for getting us out of that mess. You saved a lot of people and I didn't get sick this time!" His smile faded and his blue eyes became more focused. "But the real question is how are you feeling? Any pain, headaches?"

Hiro just smiled at the taller man. In reality he was trying his best not to flinch as the searing hot pain in his head intensified with each passing second. It was like having a roman candle in his cranium complete with flashing lights before his eyes. He just hoped his nose didn't start bleeding. Never before had he accomplished something of such great magnitude, and he wanted to stick around to enjoy it.

Jim squinted just a bit at him as if he suspected he wasn't getting the whole truth, but he let it go. "Ok then, but if you do I want you down in the sickbay immediately and that's an order."

"Hai." Hiro bowed slightly, still smiling.

"Sir, I have an incoming hail from Qo'noS." Uhura announced.

"Great!" Jim sighed plopping back down in his chair. When the transmission had been patched through, he straightened a bit and put on his best authoritarian face. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Your High Council requested assistance for a ship of yours that was disabled near the Beta quadrant. We responded to the distress call and have the occupants of the vessel aboard our ship. We only wish to return them to their home planet."

The Klingon on the other side of the link looked less than pleased, but as they were generally sour people, Jim didn't think much of it. "And where is the vessel?" The Klingon asked in a low, almost growling voice as though he were angry.

"It was destroyed by the Romulans." Jim answered simply. "They also nearly destroyed my ship as you can probably tell. As such, we respectfully request assistance from the Klingon Empire to allow us to dock at your space station until repairs can be made to get us home. The Federation will, of course, provide you with a fair amount of credits for any materials we may need."

"We will allow you to stay, but only as long as it takes to get your ship in working order and then we expect you to leave promptly." The Klingon gave a wicked smile and added, "The price of ship building materials has recently gone up substantially."

Jim gave a tense smile although he hated being screwed. He knew full well the price of materials had only gone up since he opened his mouth. Pike would probably drop dead of a heart attack when he got his expense report. At least the Klingons weren't demanding their own engineers to do the work like some Chicago union mob racketeers- Scotty would kill them all the moment one soldered the wrong wire to the wrong circuit. "We appreciate it." He finally forced himself to say with perhaps the most disingenuous smile he had ever worn on his face. As soon as the connection was cut, he mumbled, "Greedy bastards." It wasn't like the credits were coming out of his own pocket, but it was the principle of it all. "Sulu, get us to an empty dock. Chekov, you are dismissed and are hereby ordered to go back down to sickbay to be fully examined."

Chekov looked pale and startled. "But Sir, I…"

"It wasn't a request." Jim said flatly. "It was an order. You have done an admirable job under the circumstances and it will be noted in the official report. Now get moving." Of course he felt like a total hypocrite for being so harsh because everyone who knew him also knew that he would go to great lengths to avoid McCoy until he either lost consciousness or the doctor eventually caught him which just made a bad situation worse. But those who really knew him also knew that he treated his crew better than most people would treat their family members because over the past few years that was how he had come to see them. Jim never really had a family that gave a damn about him until he joined Starfleet, now he couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Aye, Sir." Chekov nodded as he limped to the lift, finally overcome by exhaustion of spent adrenaline.

Jim watched him for a moment before motioning for Ando to come close. "Do me a favor and follow him down there, make sure he makes it." He whispered before giving him a clap on the shoulder. "Ando," he said a little louder to cover his tracks. "The com system is down. Could you go down to sickbay and get a status report on McCoy's patients?"

For reasons unknown to him, he saluted as he sharply replied, "Yes, Sir!"

Jim gave him a bewildered look and chuckled quietly. "Alright, then. Hiro, could you escort Uhura while she gathers the Klingons for transport off the ship? This all might go easier if you speak the language." He smiled turning to his xenolinguistics expert. "We don't want any misunderstandings, but we do want them off the ship ASAP and I would feel better if you had some protection. I would send…someone else…but..."

His playful smile grew wider with each passing second, prompting her to cut him off before he went too far. "I will be fine." She hissed through clenched teeth as she got out of her chair and stomped to the lift where she and Hiro squeezed on before the doors shut.

Ando turned to Hiro and asked in Japanese, "Why didn't I get that job?"

Uhura replied in kind, leaving Chekov wondering if they were talking about him. "Because the Captain is a teenager sometimes and can't play nice with others."

"Oh." Hiro nodded wide eyed. "Are you and Mr. Jim together? Is he jealous?"

"No!" She shook her head in disgust. "I mean yes…well, not together but…it's a long story." She sighed as she hung her head and some of her hair spilled down her shoulder. Chekov's paranoia turned to curiosity when all he could make out was the name of his captain and Uhura's reaction to whatever had been said. He thought about just talking to himself in Russian to drive home the point of being excluded, but Uhura would understand him and that kind of defeated the purpose, so he kept looking straight ahead and hummed a Russian pop tune until his stop came.

He and Ando left their companions to corral the Klingons while they went to the hospital on the ship. Ando wasn't really fond of hospitals, but with the minimal lighting provided by the backup generators, it seemed even more foreboding because within dwelled the formidable Dr. McCoy and he was on a mission to speak with him. It really was like slaying the dragon and he wished now more than ever he had a sword. What he didn't know was that Chekov felt much the same.

"Well," McCoy drawled as soon as he caught sight of his wayward patient. "look who came back after going AWOL. You'd better have a damn good explanation or you'll be peeling potatoes until your thumbs bleed."

"I vas requested on the bridge, Sir." He replied meekly. "The Captain needed a navigator. It vas an emergency situation."

McCoy glared at him for what seemed an eternity before gesturing to the empty bed next to Sylar and sighing, "Get your ass up there so I can have a look at you." He had no reason to doubt the young man. Even though he had been trapped in the sickbay managing the seemingly endless flow of casualties, he had enough sense to know that something serious was going down on the bridge for Chekov to take off like he did.

Ando nervously cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Doctor, the Captain asked me to get a report on your patients." It felt a lot like questioning God and he did so with fear and trembling.

McCoy glanced around the room and recited the information as he simultaneously examined Chekov. "Sylar and Peter are still in serious condition but improving. At the rate they are going, they will be right as rain in an hour or two. I'm still keeping them down until I'm sure they are 100%. Waking up with raw nerve endings is a hell of a way to suffer. Nathan is in fair condition," he paused to glance at his unruly charge, "but I expect we can get him cleared in the next half hour or less. Spock is stable and as long as I don't see any signs of rejection, he will be free to go in a couple of hours." He stopped when Chekov gasped slightly when he pushed on his ribs. "Chekov appears to have some fractured ribs, but otherwise he seems fine. We'll patch him up and he can be on his way." He took one last look around to make sure no one had been left out. "The rest have been discharged already, but they obviously don't have sense enough to leave."

"If we are in your way, Dr. McCoy, we will gladly leave." Noah offered. "We don't want to interfere with your duties."

McCoy half smirked to let him know that he was only semi-serious, but the room was getting a little crowded with the injured, the medical staff, and the watchers that held vigil over the patients- he didn't need bystanders taking up space as well. "Yes, I will just get back to work then." Mohinder agreed. He lowered his voice and quietly asked Claire, "Will you be alright here?"

Claire gave a desperate smile and shrugged. "What's he going to do, kill me?" It was dark humor, but it was true.

Mohinder softly smiled and said, "Well, I'm certain I won't be of much help but if he tries I will just be in my lab."

She nodded as she watched Noah, Matt, Ando, and Mohinder vacate the room leaving just she and Nathan to watch over their own kind. She was still miffed at her father, and judging by the way he deftly dodged her glances, he knew he was in the dog house. She let out a small sigh and glanced down at Sylar, who was looking more and more human by the minute- and looking back at her. She jumped slightly and tried not to look disturbed although she was. The funny thing was, he looked equally shocked even though he tried to maintain his usual unreadable expression. "Sylar," she smiled nervously, "you aren't supposed to be awake yet."

He said nothing. His full lips never even parted as though he intended on saying anything and it was creepy the way he kept his eyes locked on her- they were not quite as evil as usual but he was certainly guarded. He didn't move, he didn't speak, he just kept staring as if he really had no choice because it hurt to blink. "I'll get the doctor." She stated with determination.

He slowly shook his head no. This was a calculated move on his part because the truth of it was, his brain had fully regenerated and was back up to speed even if his body wasn't. It wasn't like he didn't try to move, but even the smallest shift caused too much pain for his newly formed skin and he knew what was in the cards- he was completely helpless for the time being and he simply couldn't stand the thought of having people tend to him. He had never been this low in his life and he would rather wait it out and suffer until he was something like himself again than to abide the indignity of being hand fed and sipping water through a straw while she held the glass for him. Water. There was nothing more he wanted in the world at that moment. He was so dehydrated he would have gladly traded oxygen for some cool water, but his pride kept him from asking for this one simple thing. He would wait until he could get it himself. He snapped back to attention when Claire began to speak.

"So it sounds like you did a pretty big thing today." She chattered. "Good for you. I didn't think you had it in you." Neither did he, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "Looks like the evil genius saved the day."

His mouth twitched into a small smirk and with a raspy voice he whispered, "Why are you here?" There was no doubt he was suspicious and he was in no mood to play games.

She had to lean in close to hear him, but she looked him straight in the eye and replied, "Because no one else was and I thought you might need some support." He faintly smiled as his eyes drifted shut and he rested, patiently waiting for the time when he was again complete and able. He didn't need her pity, if that's what this was, but he wouldn't have guessed that of all the people on the ship, she would be the one he would wake up to. Peter wouldn't have surprised him at all nor would Hiro or his friend…what's his name. Hell, even Nathan would have seemed more likely because for all of his bluster and bitching, a cooler head would have prevailed and like it or not, he saved his precious little brother and Sylar knew that for Nathan there was no greater good than that.

Claire noted he was shivering slightly and she carefully covered him with another blanket, a gesture he did not ask or thank her for, but that was to be expected. As she watched his eyelids gently flutter as he fell into a deep sleep, she noticed the way his long, dark eyelashes almost brushed his cheek and for just a moment he seemed utterly human. He looked unassuming and completely ordinary- the kind of man in another time or place might go completely unnoticed in a crowd. Was this what Gabriel Gray was like? She regretted not having the chance to know the watchmaker, maybe things could have been different but she knew that the moment would be short lived. Soon the lamb would again turn into the lion and they would all run for their lives.


	52. Chapter 52 Possibilities

**Chapter 52- Possibilities**

Just as McCoy promised, Spock, Nathan, and Chekov were released within two hours. Not that Nathan had any intention of leaving no matter how many glares and snide comments the doctor tossed his way. Peter was for the most part whole again. He still had a bit to go until his skin could sufficiently insulate and not set off a firestorm of pain impulses every time even the slightest of breezes brushed across it. None of it bothered him, really, because he was thankful for the ability to heal as fast as he did. He couldn't imagine not having the ability to regenerate and having the process stretch out for months like it did for most people, leaving his entire body riddled with scar tissue. Hell, who was he kidding? He wouldn't have even survived and it was doubtful even the ship's advanced technology could save him. Even though his ability was somewhat slower than usual, it was still far better than the alternative and it didn't feel right to complain.

He glanced over at Claire as she watched Sylar sleep. Despite Nathan's assertion that it was essentially treason, Peter didn't feel at all betrayed that she wasn't chained to his bedside. In fact, he was proud of her choice because it couldn't have been an easy one for her to make. But it all really just spoke to the difference in personalities. Peter would have been fine even if he woke up all alone because at his core he knew he was well liked and he felt secure in is relationships with others- he didn't need constant reassurance like Nathan. Sure Nathan was essentially the rock star of the family and he worked very hard to achieve his status in life, but it never was enough and Peter actually felt kind of sorry for him. Claire was still figuring out who she was, and he liked the direction she was going in. She was at times driven like her father, but she was developing his empathy and he for one thought that was a fine balance.

He thought he knew Sylar, but his time with him on the mining planet showed him a completely different man and he didn't know what to think anymore. Previously he would have said he truly didn't need anyone, but maybe he did and had just come to accept the fact that he would always be alone. What would that do to a man to pass through the world like a ghost but never really be a part of it? Something clicked for him and it all began to make sense. He began to gain some insight into what it was like to be Sylar and it was a very dark and lonely place from his perspective. Peter was no fool; he knew he too faced an indeterminately long life in which all too soon he would have to stand by and watch as everyone he loved passed away, but even though he knew he faced a long road of heartache he was convinced he wouldn't regret having lived and loved and he was determined to keep it up for as long as he had. Sylar couldn't say the same and he wondered how he had planned on filling his time or just how he would cope with such a miserable inevitability.

Uhura and Hiro strolled into the sickbay looking like they had been chaperones for a bunch of teenage girls for a Jonas Brothers concert. They were clearly exhausted and at the ends of their respective ropes, but Uhura's mood brightened when she caught Spock at the door as he was leaving. The relief and joy washed over her beautiful features at the sight of him walking on his own, apparently unscathed despite the dire early reports she had procured via the ship's system. Sometimes being a communications officer had its advantages. "Spock!" She beamed until she noticed that others were watching and she regained a more cool and detached professional manner. "I thought I would stop by to check on you, but I see you are well."

Spock would have blushed for her gaffe because it was apparent to anyone that her concern was more personal than professional, but he was always the professional and stoically replied, "I am well thanks to the efforts of Dr. McCoy, Dr. Suresh, and Ms. Bennet."

"I'm afraid I had very little to do with it." Mohinder smiled modestly from the doorway to his lab. "However, I too am happy for the outcome. It was nothing short of miraculous."

"I see." Uhura smiled looking Spock over still in awe. He actually looked healthier than he usually did if that was somehow possible. "Well, thank you, Claire. Whatever you did it seemed to work well."

"Yeah," she smiled sinking in her seat in embarrassment, "it was nothing. I hope you live long and be happy." She wasn't used to all the attention and some kind of final greeting seemed in order to end the conversation in a hurry.

Spock's dark eyes lit up and the faintest of smiles crossed his lips as he gave her a Vulcan salute. He was fairly sure she wasn't aware of what she had just said by the way she hesitantly returned the gesture with a perplexed look, but the coincidence couldn't have been timelier. "Live long and prosper." He added with an appreciative nod.

"Oh, I will." She mumbled miserably. "I just don't know about the prosper part."

"Scotty!" Jim called as he wandered through the engine rooms, stopping briefly at the warp core. He tried not to think about seeing Peter and Sylar laying there burned to a crisp, but he swore he could still faintly smell burned flesh. At any rate, the memory was permanently seared into his memory and like it or not, he would always think of it when he was down there. He gave it a wide berth as if the area was still contaminated and continued his search for his chief engineer. "Scotty!"

"Aye?" He replied popping his head out of a hatch in the floor like a whack a mole. He was a sight to behold- completely covered in soot and grease and squinting like he hadn't seen daylight in years.

"Whadda doing?" Jim asked laughing.

"The systems are down if ya hadn't noticed." He groused. "Ah gotta check all the parts and things manually if ya want the ship fixed proper and not blow up halfway home because some wire wasn't replaced."

"Right." Jim nodded still chuckling. "That would be bad considering we got this far." Scotty looked like hell and despite his alleged agitation, he knew he couldn't have been happier crawling around in grime in the bowels of the ship doing everything by hand. It was a matter of pride: only a real engineer could suss out the problem in miles of wire and machinery without a computer telling him exactly what the problem was and where to find it and nobody knew this ship or loved it more than Scotty. "Well, as soon as you get a parts list together, send it off to the supply depot and copy Pike on it. I want to get out of here yesterday."

"Not a fan of bloodwine, eh?" He smiled knowingly.

"I'll need some when Pike gets that report to dull the pain of getting my ass chewed." He replied. "I don't think the Klingons know about the evolved humans and I want to get out of here before they find out."

"So ya figured it out then?" He asked curiously as he wiped away the sweat on his brow. "What ya might tell the brass?"

"Not entirely, but I have a plan." Jim admitted. "Plausible deniability. I need to hammer out the details with Noah- he seems to know a lot about this type of thing- but I am thinking it might be our best bet."

"Oh, Aye." He agreed with a sly smile. "He does seem like the shifty type, doesn't he? The 'I'd tell ya but then I'd have ta kill ya' type?"

"That's the kind." Jim laughed. "And I bet he would, too."

"Might, but Ah doubt he'd even tell ya anything worth dyin' for just as a final up yours. But Ah think I'd like ta know the price of tea in China before Ah go, wouldn't you?" He smirked. Getting into bed with Noah seemed like the scaggiest of all dodgy deals, but he couldn't think of a better solution. Jim was generally pretty good at evading serious disciplinary action for his mistakes, but this was way bigger than anything he had ever gotten himself into before and he may want to phone a friend on this one.

"You want any help?" Jim offered gesturing to the trap door Scotty was standing in.

"Bloody big help you'd be." Scotty scoffed. "You're much better tearin' things up than puttin' em back together."

"I'm probably better than you think!" Jim defended. "You know, I used to have an old motorcycle before I joined Starfleet and I did all the maintenance myself."

"Aye, and if the stories I heard were true ya gave it away after ya wrecked your old man's unbelievably rare and beautiful Mustang car." He paused to give Jim a disdainful look as though he had defaced a national monument. "Drove it off a cliff, did ya?" He asked almost bitter.

Jim knew the conversation wouldn't end amicably because the simple truth was, Scotty loved machines better than he did people and there was no justification for his actions that could be satisfactory, so he chose to evade the topic altogether. But it didn't mean he had to be nice about it. "I was actually thinking of asking Sylar to come down here and give you a hand."

"Ah don't need him down here mucking things up." Scotty muttered.

"He seemed to do a pretty good job the first time." Jim playfully smiled. "You know, I was actually thinking about asking him to stay on. He'd make one hell of an engineer, don't you think?"

"That he would," he reluctantly agreed "if ya don't mind all the other things he does like killin' people, making rods fly at them, pinning them to a wall and all that bother." He trailed off thinking about all he witnessed on the Klingon ship. The masquerade ended up being a crime scene that he along with Peter and Dr. McCoy unwillingly covered up.

"Meh." Jim shrugged as if it was no big deal. "He probably wouldn't pass Starfleet's background check anyway."

"He wouldn't even make it through the Academy!" Scotty rolled his eyes. "Ah can't see him takin' orders from anyone."

"That's what people said about me." Jim smiled. "And look how I turned out."

"Oh, Aye!" Scotty laughed sarcastically. "A Captain with a disabled ship, dealin' with mercenaries, fugitives onboard, and a big problem on his hands about how ta play it off for his superiors. Fine mess you turned out ta be!"

Jim just laughed because he couldn't exactly deny it. "Well, you know what this means." He shrugged. "I just set the bar higher for next time."

"Sometime there won't be a next time." Scotty mumbled as he disappeared back down his deep, dark hole.

Spock was eager and very much ready to get back to business as soon as was feasible. He knew that as a superior officer, the longer his presence was no longer felt on the bridge the more morale could possibly slip in the crew and he had a responsibility to them. He fulfilled the requirements set forth by Dr. McCoy and complied with all of his discharge orders to the letter, but he very much looked forward to attending to the business of running a ship again. He turned to Uhura who had followed him into the lift and asked, "So we are no longer under the threat of attack by the Romulans, is this correct?"

"Yes." She sighed. She was thankful that they finally had a moment alone because she had been so worried about him it almost made her physically sick and although she wanted to run to him and be by his side while he was in sickbay, she resisted and stayed at her post. And now that they finally had a few precious seconds of privacy, it was clear he wanted to spend them talking shop. "We are docked at Qo'noS for repairs. Hiro and Ando got us away from the Romulans."

He raised his eyebrow slightly in appreciation. "Then it has been advantageous to bring them aboard. Despite my initial reservations, they have proven to be most useful in a wide array of circumstances."

"Yeah." She quickly agreed and changed the subject. "Spock, we will have some downtime while the ship is being repaired. I was thinking that if you felt up to it, we might go down to the surface and maybe get some non-replicated food." She stated hopefully.

He thought about it for a nanosecond before replying, "Klingon dietary customs are incongruent with my personal preferences, you know this. They are a race of carnivores exclusively. It would be illogical to expect to find palatable vegetarian choices."

"Ok then, something else!" She sighed exasperated.

Spock stopped the elevator and turned to face her. "Your tone implies that you have an ulterior motivation for your request. You do not want food. What is your purpose for the request?"

She tried not to tear up as she looked desperately into his eyes. "I was so worried about you." She whispered. "I thought I might not see you again and you are acting like nothing ever happened!"

He paused and slowly placed his hands on her delicate, trembling shoulders. "Uncertainty is a part of our mission, it is something we must face over and over again. It is illogical to dwell on what may have been the outcome of my experience. The only fact that matters is that I am here now and I am well. Unlike Peter or Hiro, I cannot change the past or see the future so I must carry on with my duties at this moment because that is what is required. If your responsibilities have been seen to, then may I suggest you retire and reflect on the fact that your worst fears did not materialize and take solace in the fact that I am still here. If you wish, we can discuss this matter further at a later time."

Of course everything he said made sense, as it always did, but it was an impasse they would never traverse. She was not about to apologize for fearing for his safety and he could call it illogical all he wanted, she called it love. "Fine." She nodded. He restarted the elevator and placidly looked forward waiting for his stop to come, believing the matter to be resolved for the time being, but Uhura had other plans. Seconds before the doors opened, she pulled his face to hers and planted a kiss on his lips. He inhaled sharply as his eyes went wide, but he didn't resist. She pulled away as the doors opened and smiled. "Now I feel better."

He stumbled onto the bridge still stunned, but feeling quite good himself. Sulu quickly turned and pretended not to notice the uncharacteristically clumsy way his superior officer made his entrance nor the split second that revealed the way Uhura was holding his face when the doors opened. He gave Chekov a warning glare to keep his mouth shut when he realized his friend had seen it too because he thought discretion was the better part of valor and he knew better than to tease Spock about what he saw…or even make mention of it….ever. Chekov turned to fumble with controls at his station until he realized that they were docked and there was no plausible explanation for his actions. Instead, he gazed at the iron beam of the dock that took up the better part of the screen as though it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his whole life.

"Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov." Spock greeted nonchalantly as if nothing unusual had just taken place. "Are we safely docked?"

"Aye, Sir." Sulu replied in a bored tone. "We are secure, all systems are at full stop and powered down for repairs."

"Very well." Spock nodded. "Then why do you remain at your stations? You have no further responsibilities."

"I'm not going down there." Sulu laughed as he shook his head. "Mixing it up with Klingons in a club doesn't sound like a good time to me."

"Me either." Chekov agreed. "They vould probably try to eat me and then drink my blood."

"Russians taste like chicken, don't they?" Sulu smiled.

"I vould not know." He shrugged. "I have never eaten one, but I bet the blood vould taste like wodka." For all of Chekov's pride of his motherland, he was not above the occasional self depreciating joke.

"It would be logical that human flesh would be similar to beef." Spock chimed in dispassionately. "It is a red meat and I do not believe nationality would alter the overall flavor."

"You are one seriously wicked vegetarian." Sulu sniggered. "How do you know this stuff?"

Before Spock could reply, Jim came running onto the bridge. "Spock! Pan the camera out!" He breathlessly commanded. Once he did, they all stood in awe watching the intense firefight that was taking place just outside of the space station between the Klingons and the Romulans. It looked like a million stars going supernova one at a time. It was a terribly frightening yet strangely beautiful sight.


	53. Chapter 53 Plan B

**Chapter 53- Plan B**

Everyone in the sickbay heard it: the Romulans had found them and the Klingons responded by sending out a fleet of ships like a swarm of Africanized bees whose hive was being attacked. Jim had stopped by looking for Noah and he heard the chatter from the com system. Although all non-essential systems were shut down on the ship, the sickbay was the one area that was considered sacrosanct and was kept fully functional at all times. Jim only knew a few words in Klingon, but he most definitely made out "Romulan" and "attack." He fled the sickbay and raced to the bridge as fast as he could go only to see his worst fears confirmed. He had inadvertently started another war.

It wasn't _exactly_ his fault, he reasoned. As near as he could tell the Romulans came of their own accord and who was to say that they wouldn't have followed him when he rescued the Klingons in the first place? In fact, they certainly would have if they knew that the prisoner was being held- so it was an inevitability in his estimation. And it wasn't like the Klingons were coming to the defense of the Federation ship: they had their own axe to grind with the Romulans, so it was a personal matter that Jim was comfortable staying out of. He just hoped that none of the Romulans spotted the Enterprise helplessly docked and defenseless. Each passing second now was a gift because at any moment they could be found and destroyed.

"Could the evolved humans help us?" Chekov asked hopefully. He wasn't afraid of battle, but he didn't like being a sitting duck either.

"We have already asked too much of them." Spock responded sternly. "The agreement was to give them shelter and safety in exchange for biographical and physiological data. I am afraid that so far we have not been able to hold up our end of the bargain as we had intended. Each time they intervene on our behalf, the more danger they ultimately place themselves in by risking exposure of their abilities and the personal harm that can come from using them. Sylar and Peter are still recovering from their attempt and the doctor has warned Mr. Nakamura against further teleportation although I understand he disregarded this directive to get us here."

"He did!" Chekov eagerly agreed. "He and Ando stood right here next to me and vith a blink of the eye ve vere here." In some ways he still couldn't believe his own eyes. As a navigator he knew exactly how much distance had been traversed in a mind boggling short period of time. "It simply isn't possible by the laws of physics as I know them. By my calculations, ve have traveled something approaching twice the speed of light and by all accounts ve should have suffered being stretched infinitely thin vith infinite mass much like sitting on the edge of an event horizon of a black hole."

"And yet here we are." Sulu mumbled in awe looking down at his perfectly formed hands as though it were some miracle they held their shape. It kind of was, really.

"Spock's right." Jim sighed defeated as he leaned on Sulu's station. "We rely on them too much and this isn't what they signed up for. They aren't soldiers and no matter what they can do, we have to man up and do our jobs to protect them like we said we would. But Chekov might be onto something. As long as we sit here defenseless, we can be blown away without a second thought. We might be able to use them just one more time if they can and I know just who can help here."

"You cannot be serious." Nathan deadpanned with a stunned look in his eyes. "No way, I'm not having it this time. No, and that's final."

Peter turned to look incredulously at his brother. "Since when did you become Ma?" He nearly howled. "How about letting me decide since I'm the one he's talking about here?"

"Pete, you have been through and done enough here." Nathan scolded. "Why not let your new BFF over there take one for the team for once?"

Sylar glared at Nathan with red rimmed eyes. He just woke up from his self imposed hibernation to hear Jim asking Peter if he thought he could create a force field around the ship in the event they were fired on. While he was a little put out at first because it seemed that being burned alive wasn't good enough for him, he was even more incensed by Nathan's sarcasm. He wasn't anyone's BFF but he would make Nathan his bitch if he kept it up. Sylar was generally a very patient man, but as of late Nathan was leaning on his last newly regenerated nerve.

Jim turned to take in the death stare the killer was emanating and it really was terrifying. If he was as angry as he looked, he didn't know what was keeping him from doing something very bad to Nathan because he knew firsthand that he was capable of some pretty wicked badassery if he wanted to be. "Sylar." He nodded in a half-friendly, half please-don't-kill-the-messenger tone. "How are you feeling?"

Sylar's dark eyes flickered over the Captain's face, but he didn't bother answering. He knew he probably didn't really give a damn. What he really wanted to know was if he was up to being roped into yet another impossible task…with Peter…again. "The problem here," he began to lecture in a bored tone, "is that our telekinetic force is useless against laser weapons, remember?" He smirked slightly in acknowledgement of initially being shot by Jim. "Light does not have mass and without mass we can't stop incoming fire."

Jim had forgotten about that little snafu. "Jesus, you're right." He sighed hanging his head. "We can't raise the shields while we are docked. We have to find some other way of protecting the ship." In a way he was disappointed because he had come to believe there was nothing the evolved humans couldn't do, but he was also relieved because he didn't feel right relying on them so much. Perhaps this was the push he needed to get inventive.

"We could always evacuate the ship." McCoy suggested darkly. "I know it would look like we are tucking tail and running, but I think that's our best option right now."

"The question is, will the Klingons let us go down planetside?" Jim mused. "They are all for letting us dock, but being on the surface may be problematic for us and them." He paused to glance at Peter. "We are in deep enough as it is. At this point we can still spin this all in our favor, but if you guys go down and are put in a position where you have to use your powers we are screwed."

"Why would we have to?" Claire inquired. "If we just mind our own business, we'll be ok, right?"

"You obviously didn't meet the Klingons while they were on the ship." McCoy grumbled. "They'll challenge you to a fight for wearing green on Tuesday. It doesn't take much to piss them off and the only way out of it is to fight."

"They sound like charming people." Nathan mused. "Isn't there anyone out here that is not trying to kill you?"

"Spock's people: the Vulcans." McCoy scoffed. "But I think they just tolerate us more than anything."

"I think that's the best we got, then." Jim nodded. "Bones, are all your patients able to be moved?"

McCoy looked around the room and shrugged. "Peter and Sylar were the last ones on hold, but I think we can let them go now." He quickly and lightly ran his finger along Peter's exposed arm looking for him to flinch, but he didn't. "Seems like you're all intact again. No stinging or burning pain?"

"Nope." Peter smiled. "I think all's well again."

He turned to Sylar, but stopped short at the warning glare he was getting that clearly said he didn't want to be touched. "I will be fine if I can just get some clothes." He said in a confidently low voice. Of course the inferno he had created burned off all of his clothing and he was uncomfortably nude under the linens. Sylar wasn't a prude, he might not have minded just jumping off the table to go about his business, but he was very close to Claire and he really didn't want an audience. There was no reason to show all of his cards as it were- some things should be left to the imagination. He frowned when he realized that Peter was probably in the same predicament, but he really didn't want to think about both of them being nude in the same room without a damn good reason for it. He sure as hell didn't want a peek at the Petrelli family jewels.

McCoy made clothing for them both from the replicator and everyone left the room to let them get dressed in relative privacy. Still, Sylar didn't throw the blankets off until he had his underwear on which was a bit more challenging than he had bargained for. It seemed so much easier taking them off under the covers on the occasions he had 'company' and the situation called for it… Peter hopped out of bed and only made a fleeting attempt at modesty; he at least had the decency to turn sideways while he pulled on his drawers. In the end it left Sylar feeling very much like a prude because Peter's approach was sensible and much easier than his own silly solution. It was like gym class all over again and Peter was the jock while Sylar- or rather Gabriel- was still the nerd. At least Peter wasn't a dick about it and pretended not to notice while he slipped on his shirt even though he did wonder exactly what the hell Sylar was doing under the blankets.

Sylar held out the fresh red shirt that vaguely smelled of ions and shook his head. Peter was the absolute picture of perfection in his crisp blue uniform and Sylar secretly hated him for it. He considered himself a fairly fashionable man, given to darker colors and subtle contrasts in his clothing for variety, but altogether he usually looked sharp no matter if he was fresh off a kill or lounging in his apartment reading books. The bright red shirt was a bit too loud for his tastes and clashed with his dark features. It just wouldn't do. Not again. He pulled it over his head for the time being, but only long enough to get the clothes from his quarters that he had come with: the dark jeans, black button up with an understated wave pattern in a slightly lighter shade of black, and his black trench style overcoat made of a lightweight wool that was perfect for unpredictable weather- and hiding blood stains. It was also easy to spot clean which was important. His clothes had been cleaned of his own blood from when Hiro and Bennet had ambushed him in his own apartment and he felt like his old self as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Yes, Sylar was back.

"Hey there." Claire smiled as she came upon Chekov in the hallway. "Are you busy?"

He glanced up from his PADD where he had been taking inventory of each crew member who was assigned to the next trip on the shuttle to the surface and blushed. "Um…no, I just vas making sure each person gets to safety."

"Yeah, _that_ sounds kind of important." She laughed. "I'll let you get back to that."

He quickly dropped his PADD to his side and countered, "The last group just left and the next group von't go for at least 20 minutes. I have already finished the manifest, so I have some time." He trailed off bashfully because it seemed presumptuous on his part to assume she would want to stick around and talk to him in the first place.

"Ok." She nodded. "If you promise I'm not keeping you from doing your job. I don't want to get you into trouble."

He stood at attention and replied, "I swear it on my mother's life." There was nothing more precious to him than his mother.

Claire's eyes twinkled in amusement. "You sort of disappeared there for awhile. Are you ok?"

It took a minute for him to decipher what she was getting at, but he smiled broadly in embarrassment. "I vas called to the bridge. It happens sometimes, but Dr. McCoy said I am fine now. He always does a vondeful job in fixing people." He swallowed anxiously and debated his next words. "Vas Sylar released?"

She looked confused. "Yeah," she answered slowly, "the doctor told him he could go. Why do you ask?"

"Vell, vhen I came back you vere sitting vith him and I just thought…" He shrugged.

"Thought what?" She asked with a knowing smile. "That he and I have something going? I can promise you the answer is most definitely no. In fact we pretty much hate each other."

"But vhy then…?" He asked perplexed.

"It's complicated." She smiled. "Anyway, so we are leaving the ship to go down to the alien planet." She tried not to look apprehensive, but she couldn't help it. "That sounds…fun."

"It vould not be my choice for the first planet for you to see, but ve really have no choice." He said darkly. "The Klingons can be wery frightening, but it is better than sitting here vaiting to die."

"We all have to die sometime." Sylar's ominous voice rang down the hallway. He slowly approached and looked down at Claire with a menacing smirk. "Well some of us anyway."

"What are you doing here, Sylar?" Claire sneered.

He brushed it off as though he didn't notice the contemptuous way she glared at him. "To get my ticket punched." He lightly replied. "We are going down to a hostile alien world and I for one can't wait to meet the natives."

"Sylar, you heard what Captain Kirk said!" She hissed. "You can't go down there and cause trouble!"

She was panicked as though they were about to get caught smoking in an airplane bathroom and it amused him to no end. He feigned a hurt look and gently placed his hand over his heart. "Claire, who said anything about getting into trouble? From the way it sounds, we should get along rather well." He gave a low chuckle as he patted Chekov on the shoulder on his way past to the shuttle bay.


	54. Chapter 54 Planetside

**A/N: So I am in the process of moving. Updates won't be regular until things get settled. I will try to update as often as possible, but I make no promises. Cheers!**

**Chapter 54- Planetside**

"This is humiliating." Sylar scoffed as he assembled with the others in the shuttle bay.

"That may be," Jim declared placing his hands on his hips with a stern look just to let everyone know that he was indeed still the boss, "but it is for your own safety. You met the Klingons, Sylar, you know what they are like. Now imagine an entire planet full of them."

"I think I handled myself pretty well." He challenged with just a hint of a self satisfied smirk.

"Aye, if ya consider murder a bloody good solution to your problems." Scotty mumbled. Sylar heard him and glared in his general direction.

"It's only until we can get back to the ship." Noah tried to console. "And I think it's a pretty good idea since most of us have no idea what we are getting into and we need to stay _incognito_." He drug out the last word just to emphasize his point and it was clear he expected full cooperation.

"I'm cool with it." Peter shrugged. Ever the boy scout, Sylar thought to himself. He didn't give a damn if he read his mind or not.

"So, here we go." Jim sighed looking at the PADD he had stolen from Chekov when he had his brilliant idea. "Here are your assignments. Stick with your handler at all times like your life depends on it because it just might. Sulu-Ando, Chekov-Hiro, Uhura-Claire, McCoy-Suresh, Scotty-Matt, Noah you're with me and Spock you get Sylar."

"Of course." Sylar nodded slowly. "I get picked last for the kickball team."

"We don't have enough officers to go around." Jim continued undeterred. "Peter, why don't you hang out with McCoy and Dr. Suresh, and Nathan, you can go with…" he frowned at his PADD trying to find a suitable pairing for his personality, "Scotty and Matt." The awful truth was, there really wasn't anyone who complemented his personality in his estimation. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. But if anyone could defy the laws of mechanics it was Scotty.

"Suits me." Peter smiled.

Jim didn't have to worry about where Peter went- he could have got along with anybody. Nathan looked a little less pleased with his situation, but really it was Spock he was worried about. He certainly would have his hands full with Sylar, but he and Noah agreed beforehand that if anyone could keep a leash on him it would be Spock. He had managed the impossible before and although they didn't fully understand why Sylar seemed to have a mutual respect for the Vulcan when no one else's opinion mattered, it was plain he did and they would use it to their advantage. He, perhaps most of all, would have to be kept in check. Not because Jim thought he was a loose cannon- if anything he was the cautiously calculating machine Noah said he was- but he also saw firsthand on the Klingon ship that he thought nothing of using his powers to his advantage with devastating effect if he was threatened and this was an all too likely possibility. Hopefully Spock could talk some sense into him and keep him out of harm's way. That was a tall order considering he would probably be a target of fame himself for being a Vulcan- a rare thing to see these days- a human/Vulcan hybrid to be exact which was something of a white buffalo in and of itself, and then there was the whole Narada thing. Jim chuckled as he took in his stoic first officer. What would he do if one of them asked for his autograph? He could just see him surrounded by a throng of teenage Klingon girls shoving bits of paper at him to sign while they screamed…or growled…whatever the appropriate fangirl sound was for them. Spock the reluctant rock star…

"There is one more thing." Noah announced. "We are apparently going to have a short meet & greet with a Klingon delegation. It is vitally important that none of you open your mouths and give us away as being anything other than visitors from this time. Just play your cards close to the vest and keep cool. I understand their culture can be a little…different…from anything we have seen before. Just do what your handler does- follow their lead."

"Damn!" Matt declared. "And I was planning on planting a big wet one on that washboard forehead of theirs."

Sulu scoffed. "It would be the last thing you ever did."

Once the shuttle arrived, everyone piled in for the last trip to the surface. Sylar purposely took a seat next to Claire just to unnerve her, but pretended the circumstance was pure coincidence as he always did because in fact she couldn't prove he meant to intimidate her. And as he could attest to, in his line of work it was all in what you could prove- which was mainly how he managed to evade the consequences of his actions thus far. Sure everyone knew he killed people, but no one could produce any evidence that would stand up in court and that was the way he liked it. Peter sat across from him to keep him in check. The unsettled expression on his face made it clear he knew what the killer was up to and he wouldn't hesitate to throw down right there on the shuttle if he had to. Admittedly it did put a bit of a damper on Sylar's fun, but he almost took more pleasure in clandestine tactics to harass than the boorish straightforward approach anyway.

Mohinder struggled to correctly strap himself into the seat until McCoy sighed and straightened the tangled harness for him and buckled him up before the ship took off and the geneticist found himself plastered on the floor of the craft from the incredible g-force of the thrusters. That was one mess he didn't want to deal with, so he felt being proactive was the best course seeing as how he was going to be joined at the hip with him and Peter for the foreseeable future. It would look bad if his charge died before the shuttle even left the ship. Jim would never let him hear the end of it and no amount of genuine old world whiskey would shut him up either.

"Thank you." Mohinder smiled gratefully. "I suppose it shouldn't be that hard. I can figure out the bits that make a human unique, but I can't seem to tie my own shoes as it were."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." McCoy grumbled as he fastened his own restraints. "It's your first time on one of these deathtraps."

"Deathtraps?" Matt asked over his shoulder to the seats behind him. "You mean these things aren't safe?"

"They are _very_ safe." Jim answered in an exasperated tone. "He just hates flying. Just ignore him until you get to the surface."

McCoy grumbled something approximating a curse with an extreme southern drawl and squinted hard at the Captain. "Don't fool yourself, kid. Sooner or later one of these things will have a catastrophic failure and your brain'll cook in your skull like a Thanksgiving turkey in its own gravy. _Then_ come tell me all about how safe these things are."

Jim's eyes twinkled with laughter as he shook his head. "You'll be right there with me, Bones."

McCoy's expression grew somber until he finally mumbled, "Damn right."

Peter listened to the whole exchange and thought back to when he first met the doctor and Jim's instructions: _'Ignore any profanities or loud noises you may hear, we are friends I swear.'_ He didn't need Sylar's lie detecting abilities to note the sincerity in the doctor's voice. It was clear to him that despite their apparent differences, there was nothing they wouldn't do for each other and he faintly smiled. It was nice to know that someone had your back like that. Even for all of his flaws, Nathan was that person for him and he hoped he could return the favor. In truth, he desired to be that person to as many people as possible. Everyone deserved the comfort that came from knowing there was at least one person in the world who gave a damn about them. He instinctively glanced up at Sylar who was sitting placidly with his hands in his lap looking at a nondescript spot in the near distance. His expression was intense as though he were concentrating and although Peter was tempted to read his thoughts, he decided it was a violation of his privacy- and he was afraid of what he might find. Whatever was going on in his head, he was fairly sure it was something dark.

The feeling of flying in space was something that Hiro was both exhilarated and slightly anxious about. He had never been in space before- at least in such a small shuttle. Being on the ship felt like being on Earth. He pressed his face against the small porthole window by his seat and looked out at the vast field of pinpoint lights that were scattered throughout. He caught sight of the wording on the side of the ship in big, black script "USS Enterprise" as he passed over it slowly and he smiled as he softly sang "Ground control to Major Tom" in Japanese. Ando looked over at him and grinned as he bobbed his head to get a good look. Hiro hadn't been that excited since he met his childhood hero Takezo Kensei. That turned out to be a bit of a letdown, but this was something special. Sure he could bend time and space, but he never imagined he would be actually flying in it like an astronaut!

Nathan, having the terrible luck of getting a middle seat and thus no view, sat quietly and surveyed the interior of the shuttle while he chewed his lip in boredom. He told himself that he should be in awe like everyone else, but he just couldn't bring himself to be excited to meet honest to god aliens. He already had the pleasure of meeting Romulans, if you could call such a thing a pleasure, so he sure as hell wasn't eager to meet another race that was rumored to be twice as bad. He swore he could feel his hair turning grey from the stress of keeping an eye on Peter. Even though there was no reason to think he would get into trouble, somehow he always did. It was like coating yourself in honey and rolling in a fire ant hill with the expectation of not getting stung. He loved Peter, but damn it if his little brother wasn't going to be the death of him. As he sat staring at Chekov's boots across from him, he began to wonder if it just wouldn't have been better for all involved if he would have been killed at the cantina in Mexico. He was getting too old be drug across the universe mixing with hostile aliens. What would his constituents think? This was one story that would be tougher to explain than his ability to fly. At any rate, he was certain it wouldn't play well in the polls. At least he took comfort in knowing that he could spin it in his favor if some tabloid reporter was asinine enough to break the story. How many people would believe it? For once he could deny the truth without having to be convincing- the public would never buy it. Plausible deniability, baby.

Noah shifted uneasily in his seat. His mind raced with contingency plans for the possibility of having their cover blown. If it were just himself, he wouldn't have been worried because he was certain he could pull it off without a hitch. But the others weren't trained in cloak and dagger stuff the way he was and it was very possible that one of them would slip up because it was only natural for them to just be themselves. His money was on Mohinder to blow it for them, but he tried to keep an open mind as to who the culprit would be. He shifted again and noted the way he felt incomplete: the weight of his gun was not at his hip as it always was and it felt unnatural. Jim convinced him to leave it onboard because nothing shouted old school than an actual gun- it was likely to draw more attention than a parade of tribbles. Noah had no idea what the hell a tribble was, but he did get the distinct impression that Klingons were not fond of them, so he reluctantly left it behind.

The shuttle landed with a gentle rocking motion and the occupants were greeted by a delegation of mean looking warriors. As instructed, the evolved humans stood slightly behind their partners and admirably kept their collective mouths shut while Kirk handled the formalities of refuge seeking without seeming like too much of a chicken in the process. Weakness in the eyes of the Klingons was to be avoided at all costs. Although Noah was nervous about Sylar being front and center as he was attached at the hip to Spock, he played it cool and managed to blend in fairly well. In fact, the Klingons seemed to be intrigued by him and he hoped it was in a good way. Peter knew for a fact it was: they were taken by the hardened dark eyes the same way Koth was and he tried not to sigh or shake his head. Matt glanced back at him and smirked because he too was listening to their thoughts. Peter felt a slight tingle as a thought pushed its way gently into his mind. _"If they love him that much, they can keep him!"_ Peter lowered his head and bit his lip to stifle a smile.

Claire tried to look brave as she stood close to Uhura, but in truth she didn't understand half of what was said. The Klingons were speaking in a mash of English and some other language that was harsh like sandpaper on her ears. They looked so angry, but she didn't know why. Uhura didn't look at all disturbed so she assumed she was in no immediate danger- not that she really was anyway. They could hack her to bits and she would be fine. But that was the kind of thing she was trying to avoid, so she looked straight ahead with a neutral expression just as Uhura was and hoped for the best.

After Jim successfully navigated the elaborate customs of the greeting process, the delegation left and he turned to his charges. "We are being permitted to stay only as long as it takes for them to defeat the Romulans and our ship is repaired. If the ship is destroyed, we have to hang out here until the Federation can pick us up, but we will be on our own."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Nathan asked suspiciously.

"It means we're bloody SOL's what it means!" Scotty huffed.

Spock looked coolly at the flustered engineer. "More precisely it means that the Klingons are not bound by the rules of the Federation to render aid to fellow members and their hospitality is not equitable with our standards. We would be expected to secure our own shelter and food without assistance."

"So, we should keep an eye out for stray animals and a nice, cozy cave to live in." Matt summed up. "Got it."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Jim smiled. "In the meantime, against my better judgment, I accepted an invitation from the High Council for an evening of drinks and entertainment. This can get dicey, folks, so keep on your toes and DO NOT do anything to draw attention to yourselves. With any luck this will all be over in a few hours and we can get back to the ship."

As the group followed Jim through the twisting streets Ando quietly asked, "What kind of drinks and entertainment can we expect from people like this?"

"I don't know." Mohinder chuckled. "But I bet we are in for a wild ride."


	55. Chapter 55 The Odd Couple

**Chapter 55- The Odd Couple**

"Well," Noah smirked in appreciation, "this is…unusual." He had been witness to a great many odd things in his life- things he could never repeat to another human being outside of the Company. Some things were just plain strange and others too disturbing to recall, but the scene that was unfolding before him was something straight out of a Mad Max movie and something about the raw, primal brutality of it all spoke to him. Everywhere he looked was savagery: from the multi bladed weapons that adorned the walls to the post-apocalyptic leather and metal clothing the patrons wore to the snarling expressions most had that made telling friend from foe a challenge to the center of it all where a caged ring stood where two people waged war against each other while others looked on screaming in a frenzy. It was wild, chaotic, and brutal and he was apprehensive that they would all emerge unscathed at the end of it all no matter how hard they tried.

"Yeah, you could say that." Jim yelled over his shoulder as he continued to push his way through the throng of drinking and shouting Klingons towards an empty table in the corner of the room. He sat down with a relieved sigh once he reached his destination without managing to get into an altercation on the way in. Although he often was the recipient of statistically improbable luck, it seemed that in bars more often than not his karma reversed course on him at the most inopportune time and now was one of those occasions where getting into a fight just wouldn't do for his career. Although at least twice it was fortuitous for him to be in a bar and doing so changed his life- when he met Pike and Hiro and both happened in the god forsaken Podunk town of Riverside, Iowa. He often thought that the little town was the ass end of a black hole because the most bizarre things and people seemed to tumble out there from apparently nowhere.

"So," Noah smiled lightly as he jerked his head toward the fighters in the cage, "is this what passes for entertainment in these parts?"

"Looks like it." Jim answered grimly. The truth was the Federation knew only slightly more about the Klingons than they did the Romulans and that wasn't saying much. Jim knew just enough to keep his boots out of the fire and relied on his wits for the rest, but he didn't see any reason to admit that to Noah. He ordered two Romulan Ales from the surly waitress and wondered if she was put off by his uniform. He was reasonably sure it wasn't the drinks because although it was contraband in Federation zones, it wasn't here and no amount of fighting would stop the flow of seriously potent and tasty ale.

Noah took a sip of his blue ale and winced. "Wow." He coughed. "That has some kick." Although it tasted like jet fuel mixed with cayenne pepper it was strangely addicting and he found himself taking one sip after another.

Jim smiled broadly and held up his glass before downing it all in one gulp. "So," he tentatively started as he put his empty glass down and leaned across the table to be more discreet, "I have been meaning to talk to you about this problem I have."

Noah's expression went blank as he slipped into full business mode and he asked in a low voice, "What kind of problem?" In a way he felt honored that Kirk would confide in him, but on the other he knew this had to be some kind of under the table deal because otherwise he would have had this conversation with Spock- but he knew full well that the Vulcan was a man of integrity that saw everything in black and white when what Jim needed was a person who lived and breathed grey.

"It's just that I am between a rock and a hard place here. We all agreed at the outset that we wouldn't tell Starfleet about you, but so much has happened with the Romulans and Sylar and Peter have pretty much exposed themselves to everyone on the prison planet. The only two Klingons that we know knew about them are dead, but here is my problem: it is only a matter of time before word gets back about what happened in the Romulan star system. Mendak knows for sure about you and I don't know that he isn't still out there or what proof he managed to get while they were being held prisoner."

"So you need a cover story." Noah summed up with a tight nod.

"Yeah, but I can't really lie about it. We have data and samples on the ship from Peter and Sylar."

"That show nothing." He deadpanned. "Even Dr. McCoy said they looked completely normal on his tests. 'Two completely healthy human males' he said. Yes you have samples and test data, but so far they are inconclusive and therefore inconsequential. Do you have any video evidence of them using their abilities during testing?"

Jim's eyes fell on the table as he thought about it. "No, I don't think so- just raw numbers on a PADD."

"Ok, that covers your ass." He shrugged. "You took on humans who claimed they had powers but the test data did not find any special abilities."

"But you do have powers. Most officers and medical staff have seen it." Jim insisted.

"Of course they have powers, but that's not what your data says and that's the point you have to stick to because it's the only truth you have." A wide yet cold smile spread across his face as he added, "Omission isn't lying. It's only a problem if you are asked a direct question and you don't have a plausible deflection. It's how the game is played- it's all about manipulating perception and making people believe your particular brand of reality."

He knew that at the core it made perfect sense and it was technically correct, but that didn't make it all sound any less evil. It still felt and tasted like a lie- albeit a sugar coated one. Jim was not a particularly puritanical man- he was not above a little harmless chicanery now and again when the circumstances called for it, but this was something else entirely. This was absolute domestic psychological warfare the likes of which he had never engaged in before and it felt wrong and…and…_dirty_. Yet he knew that ultimately there may be no other way out of the mess he made. "Ok, so what about the Romulans?"

"Do you play poker?" Noah asked unexpectedly.

"Sometimes." Jim replied slowly.

"Win much?"

"Well…" He shrugged with an embarrassed smile.

"You don't, do you?" Noah asked flatly. "Not because you aren't good at understanding the rules or taking risks. Did you know that in any given hand you only have a 25% chance of winning by the cards that are dealt to you? That means that 75% of the time you have to bluff in order to win and that's what you have to do to the Romulans. Make them show their cards or call their bluff because you don't know what they may or may not have, but you do have something they don't: credibility. Who are your bosses more likely to believe- you or a band of known rogue terrorists? Let them tell the universe about evolved humans! You can always fall back on your data as proof they aren't special. You have to admit that it sounds pretty crazy anyway, right?"

Jim chuckled as he sat back in his seat. "Probably not as crazy as it did in your time. Seriously, what did you think when you first found out?"

Noah smiled easily as he thought back to his first encounter with an evolved human- the one that tried to rob him. "I just wanted the bastard dead."

Jim's blue eyes widened in disbelief. "That's pretty harsh."

"He killed my pregnant wife." Noah replied. "Wouldn't you?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Jesus, I'm sorry. Yeah, I guess I would." He paused slightly before asking, "Did you get him?"

Noah nodded in affirmation. "It wasn't pretty and I was sloppy about it, but I got the job done. It was all I wanted, but after he was dead and even now I wonder about him. He was probably just as scared as me- suddenly finding he was cursed with this ability and no one to turn to. He was probably just trying to survive the only way he knew how."

"Doesn't make it right what he did, though." Jim protested. "Even if I woke up one day and suddenly I could walk through walls it doesn't mean I would rob banks."

"Probably not, but you never really can say what you would or wouldn't do unless you are in that situation. It all depends on who you are and that is why there is good as well as evil in the world. It takes all kinds." He proclaimed as he finished off his drink with a grimace.

"But people can change!" Jim sighed. "I started out as a hell raiser myself, but I turned out ok."

"But you didn't just wake up one day on the straight and narrow, now did you?" He smirked. "Either something scared you straight or you had that one person in your life at just the right moment who didn't give up on you. Either way you got lucky because not everyone has that one magic moment that forever changes their lives. As awful as it sounds, meeting that kid that night was my moment. If he hadn't tried to rob us I never would have known that an entirely different world existed alongside ours filled with special people. I wouldn't have started my job at the Company and I wouldn't have had Claire. Through everything she has been the one thing that truly makes me happy. And as much as I miss my wife and my unborn child I know now that things worked out for the better. Who knows? I might have otherwise ended up an actual paper salesman."

"You sold paper?" Jim asked amused. "I just can't see you doing that for a living." The very idea of selling anything in the new economy of the Federation seemed strange to him, but he knew it was commonplace long ago to have to buy what you needed. And paper probably needed someone to sell it as much as hamburgers or nails he supposed.

"I didn't. That's what people thought I did. It all goes back to perception."

"So you _pretended_ to sell paper while you actually went around catching people like Sylar and experimenting on them? How did you keep that a secret?"

"Very carefully and very well thank you until he burned it to the ground." There was just a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Well, you can't really blame him for that if what you said you did to him was true." Jim defended. "All the tests and giving him some mutated cocktail that took away his abilities and would have killed him anyway even if it didn't do what it was supposed to. I would have been a little pissed myself."

"Yeah, I suppose we had it coming sooner or later." He replied nonchalantly. If he was at all remorseful he didn't show it. "So what about you? Something tells me you have an interesting story."

"Me?" Jim scoffed. "Nah. Not really." Despite his reputation as being self-absorbed, he really did hate talking about himself mostly because there wasn't much he could be proud of.

Noah eyed him suspiciously. "You mean to tell me they make young guys like you captains of starships on a routine basis? Forgive me if I appear a bit skeptical."

"They don't, but I guess I just got lucky." The sharp tone of his voice clearly said he wanted the conversation to end posthaste. "Look, I'm sorry…I just had a long week."

"It's ok." Noah smiled. He knew the young man wasn't telling the truth, but he also knew not to push the issue. "I think we all have."

"How 'bout another round of ale?" He offered as a conciliatory gesture.

"I think I could use one more."

Jim tried to signal the waitress, but she was busy taking orders from a densely packed table a few feet away. He laughed when he realized it was Chekov, Sulu, Ando and Hiro. From the angry look on the waitress's face, they had less than a few seconds to make up their minds before she brained them all.


	56. Chapter 56 The Fantastic Four

**A/N: Thanks to FireChildSlytherin5 for the idea of a drinking game!**

**Chapter 56- The Fantastic Four**

Hiro pushed his glasses up on his nose and timidly made eye contact with the snarling waitress. "Sake?" He asked again. This was the second time he had difficulty ordering the traditional Japanese drink in a bar and he began to wonder if it was no longer made.

"Uh…" Sulu interjected, "how about just bringing us some synthohol?"

Ando turned to Sulu and asked "What is that?" It wasn't that he really cared: he was game to try any new and exotic thing. How many more times could he expect to be on an alien planet again in his life? He was determined to make the most of it.

"It's just like alcohol you probably drank back on earth, but it is chemically altered so you won't get sick if you drink too much."

"But I can still get drunk, right?" He asked skeptically.

"Yes, but not to the point that you vill mistake a man for a woman." Chekov smiled. "Believe me, that vould be wery, wery bad."

The way in which all four were wedged tightly into the small booth made for a comical sight, but Hiro and Ando were used to being packed in like sardines in the Tokyo subway so it wasn't really uncomfortable for them. The same wasn't true for Sulu and Chekov and Chekov in particular was reminded of being crammed into the Romulan shuttle next to Matt so tightly he couldn't breathe. He may have hyperventilated if the stuffy craft didn't smell so bad in the first place. The Klingon bar wasn't smelling much better in his opinion.

"This is fun." Hiro smiled cheerily as he looked around the room. For him it was like sitting in the Starwars cantina- if the cantina was in the basement of a frat house.

"Yeah, a real blast." Sulu replied sarcastically.

"How about we make it more fun?" Ando suggested. "We can play a game."

"Vhat kind of game?" Chekov asked perking up.

"A drinking game. Every time a fight breaks out we pick a winner. Losers have to slam their fake beers as fast as they can. And on top of that, the losers race each other. The slowest has to drink another beer for losing twice."

"You are brutal, but I suppose we have nothing better to do." Sulu shrugged. "At least until we have made our appearance and it is safe to return to the ship."

They didn't even have their drinks when the first opportunity presented itself. A few feet away two women appeared to get into an argument over some long ago slight and they chose to settle the score in the ring at the center of the room. The place was too crowded to watch, but the proprietors thoughtfully posted monitors throughout so spectators could keep up. The screens posted pictures of the two contestants along with stats on each along with what looked like odds. Apparently Ando wasn't the first to think of the concept.

"Alright," Chekov said excitedly before the showdown could begin, "vhich do you choose?"

"The G'eta…the…the shorter one." Ando nodded completely unable to comprehend how in the hell to pronounce the name that was displayed. English was difficult enough to learn with all the words that more or less meant the same thing and the tendency for slang which meant nothing at all like it sounded and then all the words that were borrowed from other languages…

If it was hard for Ando, it was impossible for Hiro. He nodded numbly as he tried to show off his bicep as best he could while he muttered, "Big."

"Yeah, she has more muscle, but the taller one has a longer reach. I don't know. I'll go with the taller one." Sulu predicted.

"Me too." Chekov decided. "The taller one looks smarter and brains always beats brawn."

"She _looks_ smarter?" Sulu chuckled as he took a sideways glance at his friend. "Haven't you heard about not judging books by their covers?"

"No, I have not." He replied quietly. And he wasn't lying. Like Ando, he too sometimes struggled with analogies and he had no idea what books had to do with people other than that people wrote them. Well, used to anyway. Now everything was available on PADDs.

Sulu broke out into a full belly laugh and gasped, "You crack me up, Pavel. Seriously."

Hiro stole glances at the screen now and again because he was conflicted. He didn't like brutal violence, much less between two females, but he had a bet riding on the outcome and he really didn't want to have to drink his beer as fast as he could. He felt bad about wishing harm on one person over another, but he didn't want to be on the short end of this particular stick because he really wasn't a big drinker in the first place. A few losses could be costly.

The waitress brought the first round quickly followed by the second just as the match ended with the shorter woman effectively pummeling the taller one into submission. What she may have lacked in skill she made up with sheer force. Chekov saluted Sulu before the drinking race was on while Ando and Hiro watched them take their punishment in amusement. Chekov calmly but efficiently drained his entire glass without taking a breath and set it down to watch Sulu.

"Jesus!" He laughed taking in the smiling Russian. "My glass is only half gone! How did you do that?"

"It is in my blood." He answered simply. "Now, finish that one quickly because you still have one more to go." He gleefully pushed the second full glass closer to his friend. Sulu was so much better than him at so many things- fencing, popularity, more handsome- but there were two things he could never hope to win at: poker and drinking. Never challenge a Russian mathematical genius to games in which drinking or the potential for card counting exist.

Although he felt dizzy, he kept his word and finished his drinks. He sat back with a sigh and said, "Let's hope we get a break before the next round. I don't think I can do that again right away."

"Vill you be ok?" Chekov asked politely.

"Yeah, I'll just have to be more careful who I pick next time." Sulu answered rubbing his face vigorously. The room was spinning faster than he would like it to and he just wanted it to stop. Karma, however, was not on his side. A new disagreement once more brought opponents to the ring.

"At least it is not to the death." Hiro commented grimly as each chose a side.

"It could." Chekov reminded.

The match was surprisingly short and the men assumed it must have been a minor agreement. Still, Hiro was the odd man out along with Chekov. Having already learned that the navigator could easily best him, Hiro decided to use the only advantage he had. As soon as glasses were tipped up, he froze time and cautiously snuck out of the booth and across the room to Nathan, Scotty, and Matt where they stood against the wall talking. He peered into the men's glasses and poured the contents of his into Nathan's as it was the least full and returned to the booth to unfreeze time. He quickly put his glass down with a slight sense of shame for cheating, but there was no way he was going to be the one that had to be carried out at the end of the night because he couldn't hold his alcohol. There was less dishonor in bending the rules than being an embarrassment to his fellow evolved humans and Mr. Kirk.

Chekov's eyes went wide when he realized Hiro had finished before him and he smiled broadly. "Vell done, Hiro! You are better at this than I thought!"

Ando's eyes narrowed as he picked up his second drink because he knew for a fact that Hiro was not good at things like that and he wondered if he cheated, but he would never insult him by asking. He had been to bars for after work drinks way too many times to believe that things were as they appeared. As he finished his second beer, he caught sight of Nathan looking quizzically at his glass.

"So," Chekov said a bit lazily, "do you guys do karaoke?" His face was flushed and he was obviously feeling the effects of four synthehols in quick succession although he was trying hard to play it cool.

"No." Sulu said flatly. "We are not doing karaoke in a Klingon bar."

"Karaoke is fun." Ando protested.

"Yes, but not here. Not now." He turned to Chekov and reminded, "It isn't exactly like we are on shore leave. We are still technically on duty and that precludes us from making asses of ourselves while in uniform."

Chekov grinned and began to croon "Vhat vould you do if I sang out of tune? Vould you stand up and valk out on me?"

"No…no…no. Stop." Sulu warned looking around anxiously.

"Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song."Ando added.

"And I'll try not to sing out of key." Hiro finished.

Sulu hung his head in defeat as his three compatriots continued, "Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends." He was sure he was going to lose his rank for failing to keep a small contingent of three in line not to mention they were all terribly off key and sounded like a bunch of cats in heat. He was starting to develop a headache…

The crooning came to an abrupt end when one of the establishment's female entertainers came to the table and with a bored expression began to dance salaciously. Hiro tried to scoot further into the booth to get away from her, but Ando was already wedged too tightly against Chekov who watched the woman with a mixed sense of horror and fascination. Her body moved in a graceful, writhing motion that captivated his attention, but humans had very different standards of beauty than did Klingons and the juxtaposition made for a confusing mix.

Ando wasn't too put off by her strange looks, but there was a certain fierceness about her that made him thankful Hiro was closer to her than he was. He was starting to rethink wanting to meet any women that may be out in space because his first encounter was a bit uncertain.

As for the dancer, she was obligated to make rounds of the establishment in an effort to try to entice the patrons to drink more. It had been a long shift and her feet were sore, but it wasn't often she saw humans, so she made her way to the table full of them in part to satiate her own curiosity. The small human with glasses was clearly intimidated by her and this made her proud. Humans were such a strange species- here was a human who was clearly weak and yet they did not kill him as an infant the way the Klingons would have. Instead, they apparently looked after him and helped him until he became an adult. Why would they allow the weak to live? Now the other two humans- the ones in yellow Starfleet shirts- by their very association they were prime specimens of their species. The blonde one even seemed to be enjoying himself until the other made him look away with a sharp scowl. Sensing no forthcoming tips, she left and headed in the direction of another group of humans standing against a wall.


	57. Chapter 57 The Misfits

**A/N: So the move is finally over and I am in my new digs. Hopefully things will fall back into place and I will get updates done on time. Thanks for your patience! Cheers!**

**Chapter 57- The Misfits**

"How many Starfleet does it take ta change a light bulb?" Scotty asked excitedly.

"How many?" Nathan asked with a dead smile. For almost the entire time they had been there, the odd engineer had been regaling both he and Matt with jokes that they could never hope to get and his patience was wearing thin. He was well practiced at schmoozing and feigning interest when he would rather be watching paint dry, but even this was testing his skills of endurance. To his mind, the far more interesting question was how his glass had managed to refill itself when he knew damn well he had almost drained it in an attempt to dull the boredom just like he and Pete used to do at all his mother's intolerably stuffy Christmas parties. Not that he was complaining- a self filling glass was a pretty neat piece of technology and he briefly considered how he might sneak it out for future use. Something like that could come in verrrry handy….

"Just one, but at least one red shirt's gotta die in the attempt." He answered gleefully.

Matt gave a half hearted chuckle, but it was clear the punch line was lost on him. He gave Nathan a weary glance before diving into the remains of his glass. Nathan couldn't help but notice that his didn't seem to be magical like his own- his beverage was consistently disappearing. Maybe he got some special stemware meant for the VIP section, although for the life of him he couldn't identify who might qualify as such. He looked up sharply when he heard Scotty mutter, "Ah now, here comes trouble."

"Now we're talkin'." Matt smiled putting down his beer at the sight of the dancer heading his way.

Nathan paused and glanced sideways, "Wait, aren't you married?"

"Sorta. I guess…but not really." He mumbled confused. "But aren't you too?"

"Something like that." Nathan admitted uneasily. "But hey, we can look, we just can't touch, right?"

"Not unless it costs extra." Matt shrugged.

"I'd advise ya not ta have a go." Scotty warned. "It'll end up costin' ya a lot more than ya bargained for."

"Like what?" Nathan inquired.

"Like a trip ta the sickbay when your boaby is itchin' like ya got poison ivy and ya have ta explain ta Dr. McCoy what ya been up to before he'll see to it. And that won't be the worst of it cause he'll lecture ya from now until the sweet lord returns about not gettin' it off every time ya fancy a shag and ya wish your ears would just fall off ta end it." He rolled his eyes miserably.

Matt tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help himself. "Sounds like you have some personal experience with that one."

"No!" He protested with a hurt look. "Not me, but…well…"

Nathan smiled as he nodded knowingly. "Let me guess, a friend of yours?"

"Aye, ya could say that." He realized his mistake when Nathan began laughing harder. "Now wait a minute! That's not what I meant!"

"It's ok, man." Matt said patting him on the shoulder. "We all have 'friends' like that."

"Some of us more than others." Nathan chuckled. He wiped the smile off his face when the dancer finally made her way to him and he watched with piqued interest. Although she wasn't really his cup of tea and not the usual type to hit on him, she was human like enough to jump start his imagination and as he saw it, it was all just harmless flirting anyway.

Matt struggled to remind himself to keep an open mind regarding contact with other species, but his experience with the Romulans was much easier to accept than the dancer's very…_exotic_…look. He knew it was wrong to judge others by the way they looked, but he just couldn't get past the ridges on her forehead and her viciously pointed teeth. In all she frightened him more than turned him on, but he didn't want to be rude so he graciously allowed her to run her hands through his hair as she writhed only because he read her mind and saw how curious she was about humans in general. He felt some small obligation to be a good ambassador on behalf of his species.

"Sorry, Lass." Scotty smiled backing away from her attention when his turn came. "Ah can't put ya on the expense report. Starfleet might ask questions."

After she turned away in a huff, Nathan turned to him and commented, "Sure you could have. I do it all the time, you just have to be creative."

"Ah know bloody well how ta pad reports. Who do ya think has the best stash of scotch on the ship?" he asked disdainfully. "I just didn't think the tart was worth the hassle and Ah did ya a big favor."

"I believe it." Matt nodded shaking the Scotsman's hand. "I'll thank you even if he doesn't."

"Good ta see at least one of ya has some common courtesy." He mumbled glancing at Nathan.

Nathan wanted so badly to let loose a lecture about not boring guests to tears with stupid jokes until picking a fight with a Klingon seemed a viable exit strategy, but the politician got the better of him and he graciously smiled because in the back of his mind he thought the engineer could still be useful at some later date and it was best not to burn bridges until you were sure you would never have to cross them again. He was sure all of this suppression of anger over the years would lead to a premature fatal heart attack like his father had- if his mother was to be believed and he wasn't sure he did- but it was so ingrained in him by that point it was second nature.

"So," Matt said to break the tension he felt building up between his comrades, "if things don't work out and we end up staying here, what's the chances of me getting work as a police officer?"

"Oh, aboot as good as any I'd say." Scotty replied congenially. He noted the disingenuous smirk Nathan was giving him, but he thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. He was responsible for him even he thought he was a wanker.

"You guys still have cops?" He went on hoping to stretch the conversation a bit further. He didn't have to read Nathan's mind to know he needed a little more time to cool off.

"Aye. As long as there are people, there will be those up ta no good that have ta be minded. That hasn't changed one wee bit. There are regular flatfoots and then there are us- like the space police. More like INTERPOL really. Bigger than that even." He corrected.

"So you guys, the whole Starfleet thing as you call it, are space police?" Nathan nearly scoffed. "Then why is it at every turn I have seen you get your asses handed to you and you do nothing about it? The laws don't seem to be in your favor."

"Starfleet's a peacekeepin' organization." Scotty patiently explained. "We can't just run roughshod over whoever we fancy. There are intergalactic treaties ta be minded and as a peackeepin' outfit that's what we try ta do before we go in guns blazin'."

"Still, I would think that you could…I don't know…arrest someone who attempts to murder everyone on your ship?" He persisted. "Surely that must still be a crime."

"Ah, the old cowboy thinkin' eh? Kill em all and take names later, right? Lemme tell ya how that worked out for ya since you'll be lucky enough not ta see it for yourself: the biggest world war the planet's ever seen nearly wiped us out thanks ta paranoid people who didn't like other different from them. So those lucky enough ta live through it thought it might be time ta do things a bit differently and try talkin' ta each other rather than tryin' ta kill them."

"There's a time for peace and a time for war." He rebutted. He loved debating and perhaps that was what he missed most about being a lawyer. He relished getting his opponent to concede even if he didn't believe what he was arguing for in the first place. "Diplomacy certainly has its advantages, but there are those that are too dangerous to be allowed the luxury of negotiations. You can be a pacifist if you like, but I for one think it's better to put self preservation above all else."

"Would ya?" Scotty asked with a devilish gleam in his eye. "So you're tellin' me that if Ah had a gun and held it ta Peter's head you'd just let me kill him? Suppose Ah said he could live if ya let me kill you? You're full of shite if ya think you'd let him die and we all know it."

Matt chuckled and gave Nathan a pat on the back. "You just got served, dude."

"I got what?" He asked confused. "Wait, no. That's not it. Peter can't die, so that's not even a valid argument."

"He can die." Matt reminded. "Just not in so many ways like the rest of us. The point is he got the best of you, now man up and admit it."

"Ok," Nathan sighed trying to regroup, "maybe there are some exceptions. I didn't say I was an absolutist about it, but in general sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in and that means going to war if negotiations fail."

"And that's what we do." Scotty nodded with conviction. "Don't get me wrong, we're not a bunch of tree huggers- we take care of business when we need ta and we do a bang up job of it. We're just not keen on the whole sackin' and pillaging approach the way some are."

It was about this time that the Klingon standing nearest the odd humans had enough of their chatter. He turned to the group and hissed, "Do you mean the Klingons? You insult me with your weak ways. We have no respect for you or your Federation when all you wish to do is talk when we are ready to fight!"

"If we insulted you, we are sorry." Nathan smoothly interjected. "We were just having a conversation amongst ourselves. If you would like to join you are welcome to."

"I do not want to join in your prattle!" The Klingon growled. "You have insulted me and your apologies are not accepted. We will settle this the honorable way."

Matt immediately knew what he was referring to as he had been casually watching the monitors to observe the fights and he knew this was exactly what they were all trying to avoid. He also knew that using powers was verboten, but he saw no other option to avoid annihilation so he took a step closer to the alien and stared at him intently. In a clam, measured voice he slowly said, "You do not want to challenge us to a fight. We did not insult you or your honor. Now just turn around and forget you even heard anything."

The Klingon's eyes grew distant and he numbly shuffled away as though he were sleepwalking. Nathan watched him go and he noted in a low voice, "You know that was illegal, right?"

"As if you care what's legal and what's not." Matt sniped. "It was that or watch one of us get slaughtered. It was just one time and no one but us knows what happened."

"What did happen?" Scotty asked mystified. "They never just walk away!"

"Matt worked his mojo." Nathan answered finishing off his drink. He was a little dismayed that the magic cup seemed to stop working because no more alcohol had appeared. Perhaps it was a onetime use thing. Too bad because the way the night was going he would definitely need more. He glanced toward the bar and contemplated ordering another when he spotted Peter sitting with McCoy and Mohinder. From the looks of it, Peter was having a better time than he was and he was a bit jealous


	58. Chapter 58 Code Blue

**Chapter 58- Code Blue**

Peter caught Nathan's 'please kill me' look and smirked. He had seen that look many times during his parent's black tie soirees that he and his brother were often commanded to attend upon pain of being cut out of the will. Not that Peter ever really cared about the family fortune, he always felt as though he should make his own way in life anyway, but he did feel obligated to keep his brother's sanity intact as best he could by suffering alongside him. Misery truly did love company and he had all he could handle sitting right next to him.

"I can't believe this." McCoy grumbled into his whiskey as he leaned on the bar. "This is the last thing I saw myself doing today. I'm a doctor dammit, not a babysitter."

"We do appreciate the guidance." Mohinder smiled. Peter chuckled because he knew Mohinder was being sensibly argumentative in his uniquely colonial British way: he was directly giving McCoy a proverbial middle finger for the insult without being obvious about it. What was funnier was McCoy didn't get it.

"Yeah well I guess it could be worse. For once Jim didn't get us into some impossible situation that we have to fight our way out of. Sitting at a bar drinking isn't the worst assignment I've ever had. Speaking of, are you going to drink up or what, kid?"

Peter glanced down at the shot glass he had been holding since he got there. All he remembered was that the name contained "blood" and as a nurse and paramedic he knew to avoid ingesting things like that. The things humans carried around in their bodies was bad enough and he couldn't begin to guess what Klingons might be harboring. He wasn't exactly a germaphobe, but he saw no need in being reckless either. He might have shrugged it off as a colorful description to sell to an exotic clientele except for the fact that the contents were indeed dark red and a bit more viscous than alcohol should be. "I don't know…"

"Why not?" McCoy shrugged. "It's not like it's gonna hurt you or anything."

There was something playful in the doctor's smile that gave Peter pause, but he was right. Warily he threw it back and tried not to gag while McCoy laughed. "God!" He choked slamming the empty glass down on the bar, "That tastes awful! What the hell was it?"

"Bloodwine." McCoy chuckled. "Think of it as a local delicacy."

"To each their own I guess." Mohinder said watching Peter's reaction. He was glad he didn't have the same.

McCoy was still laughing when the bartender brought another round and set it down in front of Peter with a curious glare. Peter wasn't sure what the mistrustful look was all about, but he did get the distinct impression that he should take it and not argue. Although he was dreading the metallic iron tang of the blood component, he drained the glass and handed it back to the bartender trying his best not to look like he was going to vomit. The bartender looked incredulous and Peter chanced a peek into his head to see why: humans were not supposed to handle the strong drink, let alone two consecutive servings. Just as Peter began to panic, the bartender held up the empty glass in a salute of admiration and returned to his patrons.

"Is that stuff supposed to kill us or something?" He asked his handler a bit irritated. "Don't do me any more favors."

McCoy smirked and signaled for another whiskey before he even finished his first. "Easy, kid. I knew it wouldn't hurt you, that's why I didn't order one for Dr. Suresh. One nip and he'd be stone cold out under the bar in no time."

"That would be embarrassing, thank you for your kindness." Mohinder smiled. Another middle finger…

"No problem. Besides, now you have their respect and you never know when that might come in handy."

"Thanks." Peter muttered bitterly. He couldn't get the taste out of his mouth and he wondered if having their respect was really worth it. He was all for getting along with other people and being tolerant of other customs and beliefs, but even he had limits.

"So, Dr. McCoy, what is it like to be a doctor on a spaceship?" Mohinder asked excitedly. "I imagine you have seen many wondrous things."

McCoy scoffed as he glanced sideways. "It's not as magical as you think. I have seen more deadly disease and death than the Grim Reaper. I watched an entire planet explode and nearly wipe out a whole race of people. It's not for the faint of heart, I'll tell you that."

"How does a planet explode?" Peter asked somewhat horrified. "I'm not a cosmologist, but I didn't think that kind of thing just happened."

"Well, it does if you create a black hole in it." He grumbled staring miserably into his empty glass. "In an instant nearly six billion lives were snuffed out and there wasn't a damn thing we could do about it. Not that you can tell, but Spock still carries some scars from it. Christ, who wouldn't after watching your home and everyone you knew get vaporized?"

"I haven't known Mr. Spock for long, but he does seem to be a peaceful man and if he is a representation of his people I assume they were as well. Who would do such a thing?" Mohinder asked.

"Romulans."

Peter sat back stunned. The little time he spent on the mining planet was enough to convince him that they were capable of such a thing, but now it was all starting to make sense. "Which is why he was able to trade himself for an entire ship of Klingons. But why would he put himself in danger like that?"

"Because he is a logical bastard. To him it was all a numbers game."

"Perhaps we should take him to Vegas." Mohinder laughed. "I could win at something other than slots."

"You know your best odds are at Blackjack." McCoy gently chided. "Slots are for retirees and bored housewives. Anyway, what's more interesting to me is what it was like for you to be in medicine back when it was all barbaric."

"It wasn't like I had to rub two sticks together to make a fire to cauterize a wound on the spot." Peter defended. "We didn't have all the gadgetry you do, but we got by."

"Obviously. I wouldn't be in my job if you didn't, but it couldn't have been easy to scrape up what remained of a person and try to put them back together by hand after they got obliterated by a car wreck."

"It isn't, but I still try. On a good day you might only lose one or two."

"Did you ever cheat a little?" McCoy almost whispered. "You know, use your powers in some way to tip the balance?"

Peter's eyes fell to the floor and he slowly nodded. "Yeah. I know it's not fair to everyone else, but if I can't use my abilities to help others, why do I have them?"

"I would if I had them." Mohinder interjected. "Why indeed if they cannot be used for the good of humanity? One could use them in a predatory fashion as Sylar does, but he is building up a lot of bad karma in my opinion."

"Doesn't a person have to die and go on to the next life to get rid of that bad karma?" McCoy asked perplexed. "If that's true, he has a very long wait and at the rate he's going I don't think he's too worried about it."

"Not necessarily." Mohinder corrected. "Ever hear of instant karma? His ill deeds can come back to haunt him yet in this life and I believe they will."

"Jesus, I must have been a real asshole in my past life then to get saddled by the ex as retribution." McCoy mused. "That whole karma thing really is a bitch."

Mohinder gave a knowing smile and said, "Perhaps, but you will be a batter person for it. The past is behind you and hopefully you have learned your lesson. All there is to do is to look to the future and try to be a better man."

"Easier said than done." McCoy mumbled.

"Yes, that is the point of it all." Mohinder chuckled. "If it were that easy we would have all attained Samsara by now as perfect beings. Life by necessity must struggle to move forward in pursuit of perfection."

"Damn if you don't make suffering sound downright noble." McCoy saluted with his whiskey. "I should keep you around the sickbay to remind the nurses that I am singlehandedly making them all better people one meaningless assignment at a time."

Peter couldn't contain his laughter. He had been there and done that as a nurse. He knew firsthand what it was like to massage the doctor's egos when in reality it was the nurses who ran the joint, and it seemed that nothing had changed in all the time that had passed since his early days as an intern at a county hospital. "You know they are secretly plotting your death, right?" He asked with a smile. "I wouldn't get them too riled up or you might regret it."

"I figure every day I'm on the ship in the middle of nothingness waiting to be attacked or thrown into some improbable situation like this one is flirting with disaster anyway, so why not add just a little more excitement and danger?" He took a look at Peter and added, "Speaking of flirting, Nurse Chapel seems to have a thing for you."

Peter was a bit uncomfortable with the subject. "Yeah." He sighed noncommittally. "I'm sure she's a nice person and all…"

"But not your shot of bourbon?" McCoy guessed. "I think it's just a crush. Don't tell anyone, but I think she really has a hankerin' for that pointy eared bastard- don't ask me why."

"Mr. Spock?" Mohinder asked raising his eyebrows. "Is that even genetically possible? I mean, are human and…"

"Vulcan." McCoy supplied.

"Yes, Vulcan genes compatible? Not that it's any of my business, but from a scientific view, of course."

"Yeah, it's possible. Spock's half human anyway. The first Human/Vulcan hybrid I know of so from a 'scientific view' it's no problem.

"What about Klingons or Romulans?" Mohinder went on in wonder. "The human genome is so specific that our closest neighbor the chimpanzee isn't compatible with our DNA. It is doubtful that even our ancestors the Neanderthals were and they were humanoids."

McCoy nodded in appreciation. The man truly did love his work. "Genes are a little more flexible than you think and not as unique as you assume. I think the evolved humans are proof of concept here."

"Point taken." Mohinder said graciously.

Peter was still trying to get the bad taste out of his mouth when he momentarily caught sight of Claire talking with Uhura. While he had no reason to believe that the linguist couldn't defend herself or protect Claire- she was after all an officer in what amounted to the military- he still felt a need to watch over his niece. Blood was always thicker than water as the awful taste that lingered in his mouth reminded him.


	59. Chapter 59 Sisters

**Chapter 59- Sisters**

Claire glanced at Uhura just to reassure herself that her benefactor had not suddenly disappeared and left her on her own. She certainly felt the weight of the collective eyes of Nathan, her father and Peter on her, but she was ambivalent about it. On the one hand she was grateful that they were concerned and she knew that no matter how futile the effort, each would step in the moment they felt she was threatened. On the other hand, she was a bit incensed that no matter how many times she reminded them that she was not a little girl and she was certainly not breakable- permanently anyway- they insisted on treating her like a porcelain doll to be coddled. She was confident that Uhura could do her job, but keeping visual contact was reassuring.

What was also strikingly curious to her was the fact that she was in a bar and no one seemed to notice her. In some ways she had always been aware that she was beautiful and she had endured more than her fair share of ogles from jocks and nerds alike in high school, especially on Fridays when she wore her cheerleading uniform. It was nothing that she really encouraged, in fact she was often embarrassed by the attention and wondered what she was capable of if she chose to really use her sexuality to her advantage. Not that she would…it was just a thought… Yet here she was and not one being aside from her vigilant protectors seemed to notice. Well, that wasn't entirely true: she had caught Chekov glancing in her direction rosy cheeked and blurry eyed on more than one occasion but she chalked it up to his being apparently drunk. Every time she caught him, he quickly looked away and for some reason Sulu thought it was hysterically funny and took every opportunity to rib his friend who would only turn many shades redder.

What she couldn't have known was that the experience was much the same for Uhura. She too was accustomed to being harassed by all manner of beings in bars- including her future Captain who at the time she thought was nothing more than pathetically amusing- but here she too was largely ignored and rather than insulting she found the relative peace and quiet welcoming. You can only shoot down so many hopefuls with a straight face before it starts to ruin your night. It wasn't that she thought she was better than anyone else- a little more self assured than others perhaps- but she wasn't a megalomaniac by any means. She simply knew where she wanted to go in life and she knew a dangerous detour when she saw one that would derail all of her carefully laid career plans. Besides, she had a younger, less experienced follower to look out for and she took that responsibility very seriously. "So," she smiled turning to Claire to hand her a spiced tea, "having fun yet?"

Claire accepted the drink and gave a tense, weary smile. "Sure!" She replied glancing around. "I'll bet none of my classmates could say they have been in an alien bar far, far away."

"Well, they could but no one would believe them." Uhura laughed. "And they probably wouldn't believe you either."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Claire mumbled taking a sip of the wonderfully warm and surprisingly tasty tea. For some reason it was the most comforting thing she had experienced since leaving the ship and she was suddenly thankful for such small things.

Uhura smiled down at her charge. She could sense the uncertainty in the young woman and she felt sorry for her. Personally, she could never remember a time when she didn't know where she was going in life, yet Claire seemed so…lost. For all her incredible gifts, she was still trying to find her place in the world. "I imagine it can't be easy for you- having such a secret and never being able to tell anyone. It must feel like denying a large part of yourself."

"Yeah." Claire almost sighed. It was like Uhura in all her perfection somehow understood her. "I know I could do things to help but I have to stand on the sidelines and pretend I am just normal when I know I'm not."

"Well, you did help Spock and that was a major victory." She reminded. "I don't think you could have been more timely or helpful than you were then. I…" her beautiful eyes fell to the floor as she faltered, "I don't know what we would have done if things turned out differently."

Something about her reaction caught Claire as more than just a concerned coworker and it slowly dawned on her why. "Oh!" She exclaimed wide-eyed. "Oh…I…I'm just glad he's ok too." She finally spit out. "He seems like an…important…guy…" She stammered embarrassingly.

"Well, he is the First Officer." Uhura admitted. "He's only the one who would take command of the ship if something happened to Kirk and he's one of only a few of his race left, so yeah, he is kind of important."

Claire didn't think it was possible, but she could see cracks forming in her handler's carefully constructed persona- she really was human after all. But far from detracting from her reliability, it only added to her strength because Claire knew that not everything was as it appeared and sometimes what appeared to be a weakness was actually a great asset. "Yeah, he seems like a reliable, decisive person. Kinda reminds me of Sylar in some ways, but totally not like him." She paused and shot her companion a confused look. "Does that make any sense?"

"Well," Uhura laughed as she considered the pair, "they do resemble each other. I don't really know Sylar the way you do, but from what I have seen he seems like a very intelligent man. A little misguided maybe, but while Spock radiates calm Sylar has the bad boy vibe goin' on."

"Oh, it's not just a vibe, trust me."

"So are you two…?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No!" Claire exclaimed nauseated. "God! Why does everyone ask me that? I watched him murder one of my classmates he mistook for me! He tried to kill me too but my power kept me from dying. You don't know the things he is capable of! Why in the hell would I ever give him the time of day?"

"I'm sorry." Uhura said putting her hands up in mock surrender. "I didn't know about those things. It's just that I heard you sat with him instead of your uncle in sickbay and that would imply that there was something between you that would make you do that."

"Nothing but pity." She said sadly. "I hate him for everything he has done to me and my family and friends, but to leave him alone would have only given him more reason to act the way he does."

"It's hard to take the high road." Uhura commended. "But maybe it is helping. He has done some good since he came. Maybe he is learning from your example."

Claire glanced at Sylar further down the bar who momentarily locked eyes with her before he looked away and there was something in those dark eyes that resembled…sadness? Remorse? It couldn't be, she decided. He never regretted anything he ever did. "I think Spock has done the most for that." She stated observing the ever vigilant Vulcan standing at attention with his hands behind his back watching over Sylar.

"He does seem to have some influence with him." Uhura replied in a mysterious tone. "Peter can use his powers to battle him, but Spock can seem to reign him in with just a few words."

Claire smiled faintly as she watched the pair at a distance. "I wonder if he could completely transform him if he had enough time?" She wondered aloud. "Does Spock have any powers that humans don't?"

"Vulcans can mind meld." She shrugged. "But I seriously doubt he has with Sylar. That is something they are reluctant to do since it completely opens the mind of the respective participants to total free flowing communication. It is a more intimate function and I doubt he would expose himself to the darkness in Sylar's mind." After she thought about it for a moment, she added "But knowing him he would if it meant saving him."

"Just like he traded himself to save the Klingons on the ship." Claire echoed. She began to wonder if something did go on between the two of them because previously Sylar would have never volunteered to stay with Peter on the mining planet nor would he have sacrificed himself to save the crippled ship from enemy attack. She couldn't help but remember the totally different man she sat by in the sickbay- the one who was human and frail and so unlike the man who had broken into her house and cut open her head without regard to her feelings of being violated so long as he got what he came for. But lately the man who was now leaning against the bar was neither of those men, but something in between and she was hopeful that he would stay that way. Eventually she may be able to forgive him if he could renounce his evil ways, but something inside of her told her not to hold her breath.

"So if not him, do you have anyone else?" Uhura asked politely.

"Ah, no." She smiled. "I'm not really looking for that right now."

"Good for you. There's nothing wrong with working on yourself first before you go looking to get wrapped up in someone else's drama."

"Sounds a little bitter…" Claire playfully mused. "Was there a someone for you?"

"I didn't mean it like that." Uhura defended. "I just meant that too often young women go rushing into relationships because that's what they are expected to do. But how can you be an equal to another when you don't even know who you are? It always seemed backward to me to get into a relationship where you are expected to know the wants and needs of the other person before you even had yourself figured out."

Claire nodded in appreciation. "You sound like my dad, but I know you both are probably right. I was in college when I left because it's what my grandmother wanted, but I just feel like I'm wasting my time there. Don't get me wrong, I'm learning a lot about English lit and chemistry and I even made a friend, but I can't help but feel like I am meant for something else: something bigger."

"Maybe you are." Uhura granted with a smile. "And look at it all as a learning experience. Sometimes negative experiences tell you where you shouldn't be and they point you in the right direction. There is a lesson to be learned in everything if you only open your eyes and look for it. There is no shame in failing, the shame comes from not learning anything from it."

"That…" she stated emphatically, "does _not _sound like my dad."

"Yeah, he seems wound a little tight, but it's obvious that he loves you, Claire, and I'm sure he would do anything to see you grow up into a confident, successful, and secure young woman- no matter what you choose to do in life."

Claire agreed and reached out her hand to place her nearly empty glass on the bar. The tea, although delicious, had grown cold and now had a deeply bitter aftertaste. Just as she made the move, a Klingon crossed between the bar and Uhura and knocked the glass out of her hand, spilling the remaining contents on the passing woman. Claire blanched white when the woman looked down at her soiled clothing and snarled with jagged teeth at the offender.

"Oh God, I am soooo sorry." Claire quickly apologized looking for napkins to help dry off the victim, although the tea would certainly leave a stain in the fabric. In the end, she resorted to swiping the towel the bartender had left unattended and patted down the angry woman.

"Claire, don't…!" Uhura yelled even as she frantically wiped at the woman's clothes. Claire turned to her startled. "You shouldn't have touched her." She said with a heavy sigh. "That's provocation."

"Provocation?" Claire cried. "To what?" Deep down she knew the answer.

"Well," the woman growled, "you have dishonored me in the worst way by defiling me. I now challenge you to a fight if you are not a coward."

Claire stared at her wide-eyed in horror as her mouth opened and closed several times in an effort to say something….anything! The woman was easily twice her size and she knew nothing about fighting which made the odds pretty long that she would come out for the better at the end of it all. She quickly glanced at her protectors, but Peter, Noah, and Nathan were all distracted and none knew of her impending danger.

"Well?" The woman taunted.

She looked back to her and weighed her options. She could just admit that she was a coward, but she didn't know what would come of that. Was there some public humiliation ritual involved? She could accept the challenge and although she knew she would survive, she couldn't suppress her regeneration ability and that would be problematic. Fighting was definitely out…she squared her jaw and opened her mouth to reply…


	60. Chapter 60 Twins

**Chapter 60- Twins**

Sylar let out a small sigh of boredom as he leaned on the bar next to Spock who was as rigid as he could be without being accused of being a cardboard cutout. His foray into enemy territory did not pan out as he had planned. He was hoping for a little exotic adventure, but the Klingons seemed just as boring as the ship's crew minus the barbaric fights that occasionally graced the monitors. He knew they were a primitive bunch, but really- so much aggression over such trivial matters was a little sophomoric in his book. Obviously evolution worked at its own pace and in the case of the Klingons it was that of a snail stuck in molasses.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asked half sarcastically to his guardian. He almost knew the outcome, but wasting his time and breath seemed better than doing nothing.

"I do not believe you possess credits with which to make a purchase." Spock gently retorted. "It should be me making the offer as I have the proper currency."

"Even better." He mumbled disinterested. "What does a man like you drink anyway? Something hard I would imagine. You seem the type to be able to handle your liquor."

"I am unable to be influenced by alcohol."

"That makes two of us." Sylar smirked. "But you can at least pretend to fit in. I think you are drawing more attention than I would if I used any of my powers. Don't worry, I can teach you some of the tricks of the trade."

"You wish to educate me on the skills required to deceive others?' Spock asked. Sylar couldn't tell if he was intrigued or offended. "I politely decline. That is a lesson I do not care to learn to the degree with which you practice."

"Oh," Sylar replied confidently raising an eyebrow, "I didn't say you could be as good as me, but I can show you enough so people won't mistake you for a hat rack." Spock relaxed his stance slightly and decided his charge was making sense. "That's better." Sylar commended. "Now, let's start with what to drink. If alcohol isn't your thing, drink what you like but in a bar you should at least have something in your hand- even if you never take a sip."

"Your logic is sound. I will request a Vulcan brandy. What would you enjoy?"

"I'm not familiar with the menu, but it doesn't matter." He shrugged. "No matter what it is, it won't kill me or get me drunk so just order whatever's popular. Even if it tastes like swill, I don't have to actually drink it and since I'm not paying for it, I'm not out anything."

Spock averted his dark eyes and suppressed a small smirk. "Again, your logic is correct." He complimented before placing his order with the bartender. When he handed Sylar the same he had ordered, he asked, "Correct me if I am mistaken, but wasn't it something of a taboo for a man to buy another man a drink in an establishment such as this in your timeframe? It did have a sexual connotation, did it not?"

Sylar paused with the glass halfway to his lips and it was a good thing he did: he would have choked otherwise. He slowly placed his glass on the bar and folded his hands in front of him to collect his thoughts before he quietly responded. "I don't know your sexual preference, but I will tell you mine just so we are of the same understanding here: I have no problem with gay men, but I don't swing that way. If you do, it's cool, it just won't be with me."

Spock looked confused until he raised an eyebrow slightly. "So I am correct and you believe my inquiry to be an innuendo to entice you into having sexual relations with me because you believe I mate with males. Fascinating."

"Whatever." He sighed draining his warm brandy in one massive gulp. It sank slowly into his stomach, leaving a slow burn that he found strangely comforting. "As I said, I don't care what you are into. The only way you will garner my interest is if you have an ability I can collect. If you do, then we'll talk."

"Vulcans can mind meld, but I am uncertain if it is a skill you can cut from my head." He deadpanned. Sylar had to admire the man's fatalistic humor since both knew he could at least try if he wanted to.

"Mind meld." He echoed. "What's that? Fusing brainwaves with another person?"

"Yes, of sorts." Spock admitted. "But it is more than just the sharing of thoughts, it is also total freedom of emotion and memory."

"No thanks. I experienced something like that with Peter and it was unpleasant to say the least." He had since recovered somewhat, but he shuddered to remember the dirty, oily, messy conscience Peter stuck him with. Emo bastard.

Spock's eyes danced playfully as he quietly said, "It is just as well, it was not an offer. As you stated, you have no wish to be intimate with me."

Sylar chuckled. "Forgive me, I am usually a better judge of character."

"All that was said was in jest, so there are no amends to be made." He glanced up at the screen at the latest matchup and internally began counting the seconds until a polite exit could be made. Jim had a habit of dragging him into unsavory bars on Earth, but this was definitely not tolerable. A small, disturbing thought niggled at the back of his mind that it was only a matter of time before something went terribly wrong. That could have been the result of previous experiences- nearly every excursion he could ever remember taking with Jim ended in some kind of catastrophe- or it could have been his human intuition. Either way, it was foreboding and he didn't like it one bit.

"So did you ever get any answers about how our powers work?" Sylar asked nonchalantly. "I would like to think something came of it after the dog and pony show I went through."

Spock nodded because he could understand Sylar's point of view. It wasn't like he asked to be brought to the future and he did have quite the negative history involving research. He deserved answers. "I was able to correlate willful use of an ability with changes in brainwave patterns. This might explain part of the equation. As to how you are physically able to create electricity or thermonuclear fields is yet to be determined."

"And Suresh?"

"He believes he has identified a potential mutation in your genetic code that may have altered your make-up substantially from that of ordinary humans, but I am unaware of any further developments in his research."

"Yeah," He muttered miserably to himself, but not so low that Spock's sensitive ears couldn't hear it clearly. "The mysterious mommy gene."

"Regardless of the genesis, it is more information than was available prior to your arrival, correct?" Spock knew a can of worms when he saw one and he dared not open that particular one.

"I guess, but I never really cared about how it all worked to tell you the truth, so long as it works and I can gather them at will." Sylar stated swirling the few remaining drops in the bottom of his glass.

"That is unexpected." Spock mused. "I would have thought that the need to know, to figure it all out would be consuming for you. Is that not the basis of your innate ability: to figure out complex systems?"

"Yes, but not everything is worth navel gazing over."

Spock was amused by the euphemism. Humans had such colorful and sometimes confusing ways of expressing themselves. "have you ever pondered what your intellect could do for you- and for all of humanity if you only applied yourself?"

Sylar paused and glanced up at the pointed eared man. "You sound like my high school guidance counselor. She always asked me what I wanted to do with my life and the answer then is the same as it is now: whatever will get me ahead. I suppose I could cure cancer or figure out how to balance the national budget if I wanted to, but what do those things have to do with me? I will never die of disease and the economy will fall as all great empires do sooner or later. China, India, Rome, Brittan- all ruled the world for a time but the bigger they are the harder they fall. Why should I intervene?"

Spock placed his glass next to Sylar's and replied, "Either you stand and fight for all that is just and right or you cower into oblivion and if you are fortunate, become a footnote in the pages of history. One man's actions can change the entire course of evolution."

Sylar slowly smirked as he lightly ran his fingers over Spock's abandoned glass. "You still believe that even after you witnessed the destruction of your planet and all of your people? You still hold on to the hope that if you just try harder you can somehow make up for failing…" his eyes grew distant and he almost whispered, "your precious mother?"

Spock immediately resumed his rigid stance. How soon he had forgotten what the evolved humans- Sylar in particular- were capable of. It was a sudden reminder to never let his guard down again. "I did not fail her." He said sternly.

"But you didn't succeed in saving her either." He coldly retorted. It was like it was all a game to him. "But you wanted to so badly, didn't you? She was the one person who loved you for who you were. But hey," He gave a small sarcastic smile, "that's what mothers do, right?"

"I assume you learned this from your infantile, overbearing adoptive mother since your biological mother sold you like a common commodity." It wasn't usually his style to be so direct, but when you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Besides, he thought outright strangling him on the bar would have been cliché.

Suprisingly, Sylar laughed. "I see Bennet's been airing my dirty laundry for you. Yes my adoptive mother was infantile. She lived in a fantasy world of figurines and snow globes and my adoptive father was hardly the prime example of what a man should be- at least for the time that I knew him before he left us. Even my real father is a pathetic asshole- but at least he had the courage to embrace what he was: a hunter and a killer. He is the one that sold me, not my mother. She died trying to protect me; I know because I watched him kill her. If that isn't the extent of what a mother will do for her child, then I don't know what is."

Spock nodded in agreement because he often replayed the scene of his own mother's demise in his own mind over and over again and he wondered: did she purposely let go to save him from falling over the edge as well if Chekov couldn't beam them up in time? If so, it was risky and irrational to sacrifice oneself on a hunch- but it was also utterly human and she certainly was.

"I don't know about you, but I could use another useless drink." Sylar proclaimed pushing himself away from the bar as he headed toward the other end where the bartender was. He spotted Uhura and Claire talking amongst themselves- girl talk he surmised- and he kept his distance a few bodies away. "Vulcan brandy." He requested when the bartender came to him. "And put it on that guy's tab." He added pointing to Spock. While he waited, he let his mind wander to future possibilities. Since the timeline had been changed, presumably the evolved humans had been saved, which meant that his alternate self was probably walking around the galaxy that very minute. He wondered where he might be and he also wondered if he would recognize himself after all the intervening years and the myriad of experiences he had gained. Would he look any older? After all that time, would his hunger be just as strong? How many powers would he have? Hundreds? Millions? Where would future Peter and Claire be? Would they still be mortal enemies?

He turned again to Claire just in time to watch her spill her drink all over a Klingon woman and he would have laughed at the way she blanched pure white if the situation wasn't so serious. Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the gap just in time to hear the woman ask, "Well?"

"I…" Claire stammered.

"I accept." Sylar replied smoothly with a gracious smile. Even as the words left his lips he realized why he had done it: if the damn empathy residue came from Peter, it would react strongest in Claire's defense. Damn him.

"You cannot accept a challenge on behalf of another!" The woman yelled. "If she will disgrace herself, let her!"

"Who exactly is the coward here?" He asked tilting his head. "If you are afraid to fight someone more your size, then I would say it is you."

"Sylar!" Uhura hissed. "You don't know what you are getting yourself into!"

She was right, he didn't. But he did know that getting her out was more important because in the end, if they were all going to get out undetected, it was better that he be center stage as the one with perhaps the most control, the best pretender and showman, and most importantly nothing to lose but hopefully a little blood and certainly a lot of dignity.


	61. Chapter 61 And In This Corner…

**Chapter 61- And In This Corner…**

"No..no, no, no." Jim shook his head in horror as he took in the screen.

Noah turned to view the monitor behind him and if he were a man given to panic, he might have let out a squeal that would put a six year old girl to shame. On the screen was Sylar's hastily taken photograph with the description of "Species: Human Male. Height: 6'1" Weight: 172lbs. Wins: 0. Losses: 0. Skill: Unknown." Even though he didn't really have time to pose for his picture, he still managed to look menacing.

"Oh no." Hiro gasped as he pointed to the screen. Everyone at the table followed his gaze.

Chekov, being a bit tipsy from a string of consecutive losses, giggled in surprise. "Vell! This vill make things most interesting. Vith powers like his, he vill vin in two minutes or less. That is my bet and I am sticking to it." He slapped the table confidently.

"But he can't use his powers." Ando reminded him. "I'm taking the Klingon."

"But do you really think he will let her kick his ass in front of everyone?" Sulu scoffed. "There's no way in hell I would if I were him. He may not annihilate her, but he won't take it lying down either. I'm with Pavel on this one."

"Well I'll be damned." McCoy declared.

"What the hell is he doing?" Peter fretted looking around for the man himself to hopefully get a handle on what was going on by reading his mind.

"This should be nothing short of ghastly." Mohinder observed darkly. "What do you think he will choose as his coup de gras, telekinetically ripping her spine out through her mouth perhaps?"

"I don't think that's even medically possible." McCoy grumbled. But after he thought about exactly who was involved, he asked, "Is it?" After all, he did use the Klingon engineer for a voodoo doll…

"Oh boy." Matt sighed. "Here we go."

"Seriously?" Nathan asked no one in particular. "Out of all of us, I thought he'd be the least of our worries. The one time you need him to tow the line, his ego gets the better of him. I'll bet she said something about his eyebrows and that set him off."

"Is he sensitive about that kind of thing?" Scotty asked mildly. "Ah mean, they are a bit…_manly_, but he keeps em in fair condition Ah would say."

"I don't know." Nathan replied slowly. "I never had the balls to insult him like that. Sending in shock troops to neutralize him is more my thing."

Uhura and Claire made their way to Spock, who wore an inscrutable expression on his otherwise pale face as he observed the monitor with his hands behind his back. "I tried to stop him." Uhura said desperately.

"It seems that we have both failed in out attempts to prevent this." He replied somewhat resigned. Simply put, Spock was not a man who was accustomed to failure. But, he had to accept the situation for what it was and try to figure out a solution.

"I can't believe he did it." Claire muttered. "Why?"

"I don't know, but I hope he has a plan." Uhura said. "I have to find a replicator. Claire, stay with Spock and I will be right back."

"Wait…what?" Claire called, but Uhura was already gone. Judging by the slight expression on Spock's face, he didn't have a clue what she was up to either.

The lights were bright and hot as Sylar stepped into the cage opposite his opponent. He slowly removed his jacket and took his time rolling up his sleeves while he observed her every gesture- cataloging her every move and making hypothesis about her in order to find and exploit any weakness. He was no fighter, he knew this perhaps more keenly than anyone, but he was determined to use his innate ability to the fullest extent and he didn't consider it cheating. He was simply smarter than she was and he shouldn't be penalized for using his brain.

There would be no real winning, he admitted to himself, only survival. He knew he couldn't use his powers, at least in an obvious way, and that put him at an unfair advantage. He could easily kill her in any number of ways, but there was more than just his own interests to protect so he was left to his own devices. The watchmaker would have to defend himself as best he could and pray for a swift end. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try to get a few good shots in, however. As he reluctantly made his way to the center of the ring, he caught glimpses of his comrades peering at him anxiously through the cage that surrounded him. Jim seemed particularly worried. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on his opponent.

"You have accepted a challenge." The woman growled. "We will fight until one surrenders or dies. No outside interference- just you and me."

"Sounds fair." He conceded. She didn't know that no matter how much she beat him, he wasn't going to die, so he didn't have to worry about that mess.

She took a step back and struck her chest once before crouching into a fighting stance. Sylar was expecting some kind of a bell to ring to start the fight, but maybe that was the signal. A momentous roar built up in the crowd with the onlookers cheering for his death as the inferior human, but he didn't let it bother him. He had to put on a show even though he was truly the better of the two. That was his dirty little secret that he would have to keep to himself. He mirrored her stance and prepared for the worst.

She wasted no time in throwing a few narrowly missed punches. Thankfully, his height was beneficial in that it kept him at a safe distance while allowing him to maintain a long reach if he chose to strike back. For the moment, he was just hoping to wear her down. He took a few surprisingly hard punches to the ribs and he instinctively backed away before she could land another hit and possibly break them. His strategy would fail if he couldn't breathe.

Thanks to just a little telekinetic force, he managed to deliver an uppercut that sent her reeling. He was pleasantly surprised at himself because he never was good at hand to hand combat, so he felt vindicated even if he did bend the rules a bit. Although it temporarily stunned her, it seemed to have only stoked her anger. She growled as she lunged at him like a wild animal and tackled him to the ground. She was astoundingly heavy for her size- it felt like being hit by a wrecking ball. She used her knees to pin his shoulders to the ground while she rained down one punch after another that were aimed primarily at his face. He allowed her a few solid hits before deciding that it couldn't go on. Simply put, it hurt like hell and there would be no end to it as long as he kept healing. With all of his concentration, he willed his healing ability to slow down. This was the one power he never practiced with because he never in a million years could have imagined ever wanting it to malfunction, but now he needed it to look as though he were injured and he found it difficult to control.

With one last punch, he was sure she fractured his cheekbone and his head twisted violently. Through bleary, swollen eyes he saw Peter and Claire clenching the cage and watching. If he didn't think it impossible, he would have said that Claire actually seemed to give a damn. He would have thought that she would enjoy watching him suffer, probably wishing it was her throwing the punches while he bled. But instead, she seemed truly sorry for him and he didn't know what to make of that. Peter he could understand- it was simply in his nature to forgive and to want to alleviate the suffering of others- but Claire? She vowed to spend her days hunting him for what he did. He began to fade in and out of consciousness from the beating his brain took, but his ability would not let him pass out entirely, so he was unfortunately aware that the woman had given up punching him and started kicking his head and ribs instead to give her arms a break. There was a dull crack as several of them fractured.

"Give up already!" Peter's voice drifted inside his rattled skull. "You can't win this one. Just act like you are unconscious and let her win. _Please_."

Sylar lay motionless on the blood smeared matt with the crowd cheering at his defeat, staring up at the glaring lights, blood and sweat trickling down his forehead, willing his powers to stop working and he let it all fade away. He knew he couldn't win, but that was never the goal. He only wanted to survive and to get them all out undetected. If he was right in that evolved humans were saved and still walking around, anything less than total defeat on his part could expose them all and he didn't want to be the one responsible for possibly wiping them out again. It wasn't that he really cared, he had his own reasons. As long as he could hold on to the pain and let his wounds bleed long enough to be convincing, he might just be successful. He kept his eyes closed as he felt someone grab his ankles and drag him out of the arena, no doubt leaving a trail of blood in his wake. "You gave it your best." Noah commended supporting his weight along with Jim. "Let's get you out of here."

The crowd hurled insults at him as he was drug away, but he kept his head down as though he were dead and they were simply removing a corpse. "Christ," Jim declared with a small smirk, "you look like me after I get into a bar fight. Somebody get Bones over here!" In a quieter voice he added, "I know you don't need it, but we have to keep up appearances, don't we?"

The two men dumped him into a chair at the back of the bar and the others quickly surrounded him because they knew what he was doing and they also knew that even he couldn't suppress his abilities forever. "Let me through!" Uhura demanded as she shoved her way past Scotty and Ando clutching a small bag tightly. "Hiro!" She called grabbing his arm, "Can you freeze time for us?" He was slightly bewildered at her request, but nodded before squeezing his eyes shut and stopping time for everyone but the group surrounding Sylar.

"Mon!" Scotty mumbled wide eyed. "Are we the only ones still movin?" He slowly approached a Klingon and cautiously waved his hand in front of the alien's face In awe.

"My God, man." McCoy sighed taking one look at Sylar's injuries- or what he could maintain of them. "What happened up there?"

"You saw it." He shrugged.

"It was wise to allow yourself to be defeated." Spock commended. "Even though you were the superior fighter."

"Yeah, but how are we going to get him out of here?" Sulu asked gesturing to Sylar's slowly healing wounds. "He can't help but heal and that will draw attention. No one can take a beating like that and still look perfectly fine."

"I got it." Uhura smiled waving her little bag. "Go ahead and let your powers work. I got you covered."

Sylar was suspicious, but he was tired of the pain and further resistance was futile anyway. He almost sighed with relief when the cuts healed and fractures mended, returning him to his perfectly healthy state. All that remained were external smears of blood on his skin. Uhura unzipped her bag and he realized what was inside: cosmetics.

"Hold still." She instructed after he flinched away. "We have to make you look like you just got your ass kicked. Do you have any better ideas?"

"It's just a little make-up." Peter playfully teased. "Are you more of a winter or summer complexion?"

Sylar's eyes grew dark and he glared at Peter. He didn't plan on suffering this indignity as well, but she did have a point. Reluctantly, he allowed her to recreate bruises and cuts with various shades of blush, lip liner, and eye shadow until even others began to comment how realistic it looked. When she was finished, the make-up along with the remaining blood made for a convincing cover- at a distance.

"We may have to bend the rules a little." Jim nodded decisively. "Hiro, when you unfreeze time I want all of you to get back to the shuttles to get back to the ship. Tell them anything you have to get back onboard. I will stay here and make the final goodbyes and meet you. Peter, Matt, I want you guys to read minds and convince them that they were wrong if they catch on. It might not be entirely safe up there, but it sure as hell isn't down here anymore."


	62. Chapter 62 Dirty Deals

**Chapter 62- Dirty Deals**

Getting back to the ship was easier than the crew had imagined it would be. It almost seemed like the Klingons were glad to be rid of them and Sylar's apparent condition served as a source of amusement as they assumed he had gotten into a fight with a child: an adult Klingon would have killed him.

The ship was still intact, as much as it was when it arrived anyway, and no further damage had been sustained according to the onboard reports. Scotty and his crew went on a frenzied rampage in an effort to at least get the ship spaceworthy enough to get them back to Federation airspace. This was a tall order in and of itself, but the still raging battle between the Klingons and the Romulans made the required spacewalks to the external components of the ship exceedingly dangerous. Scotty briefly considered conscripting Sylar for the job as the only person he knew that could figure out the mechanics and not die out there, but he decided against it. He was nothing if not stubbornly self sufficient and he was determined to get the job done on his own. Sylar hadn't always been on board and he probably wouldn't be either, so they had to work with what they had.

Spock, Uhura, and Sulu were seated on the bridge, directing work crews to malfunctions and troubleshooting for the engineering crew. Chekov was sent to sickbay for a rapid detox shot- one that McCoy would delight in giving since the kid showed poor judgment by drinking so much in the first place. He probably had just as much to drink, but he could handle his liquor and that was entirely beside the point.

Sylar went directly to his quarters and scrubbed his face clean of all the blood and make-up. When he was finished, he slowly looked up to the mirror to see his clean and perfect face, water dripping off his chin and he slowly smiled. He thought about all that had happened since he was taken from his life in New York and he had to admit that he didn't really know who he was anymore, but that didn't bother him. He was a believer in the saying that crisis and opportunity were one in the same and although the future was uncertain, he felt as though it were wide open and entirely of his making.

The rest of the evolved humans gathered in the rec room in an effort to stay out of the way until they were needed. Since their arrival on the ship, it had become an impromptu meeting space and the default waiting room. They simply didn't know where else to be.

"Well, that was fun." Nathan said half sarcastically as he took a seat on a bench next to Mohinder.

"Actually is was kind of neat to watch big, bad Sylar get his ass handed to him by a chick." Matt chuckled. "I'll bet that's something we'll never see again."

"We should have made DVD's of it. It would be an instant hit on YouTube!" Ando agreed.

"It would be a snuff film." Claire replied disdainfully. "I can't believe you guys are serious about this. I didn't see any of you volunteering to take her on. At least he had the balls to go in there _knowing_ he couldn't use his powers."

"She's right." Noah admitted. "We all know he sucks at actual fighting."

"Then why did he do it?" Mohinder wondered aloud. "Why would he suffer such public humiliation?"

"Because he isn't who we thought he was." Peter answered darkly. "It's time we all admit that the Sylar we knew has changed."

"Or that's what he wants us to think." Nathan countered.

"For what?" Peter cried throwing his hands in the air. "What could he possibly have to gain by doing what he has? You sure as hell don't appreciate it- he isn't going to get a word of thanks from any of us. What are we going to do to him, leave him behind? We would actually be doing him a favor!"

"How _are_ we going to get back?" Claire asked. "How do we know it's safe?" She tried not to look back accusingly at Nathan, but she couldn't help it.

"The way we came." Noah answered. "Peter can help Hiro to take us back where we belong. After they find an appropriate safe zone, of course."

"I do think we are perilously close to overstaying our welcome." Mohinder reminded.

"As soon as Captain Kirk is available, I will talk to him to see if he got what he wanted from us. If he has, then we'll go." Noah decided with a nod. "I'm not sure if given enough time we could completely figure out how your respective powers work, but that's not really what we came for in the first place." He rested his steely blue eyes on Nathan who was becoming irritated with all the sideways glances and innuendos.

"That might be awhile if he's kissing the Klingons goodbye and then he has to figure a way out of this mess with the ship broken and all." Matt mumbled.

Jim marched onto the bridge in full on commander mode. "What do we have, Spock?" He asked plopping down in his chair.

Spock noted that he looked a little agitated and he could only assume that the departing formalities with the Klingons either took longer than expected or involved some kind of further extortion in order to be allowed to leave the starbase. "Engineering has nearly restored the core thrusters and Mr. Scott assures me that a new housing component has been constructed for the warp core that should be sufficient until we reach Federation airspace." He paused and cautiously asked, "Are we cleared to exit?"

Jim chewed his lip and glanced sideways at his first officer with something approaching anger, although Spock didn't take it personally. "Yes." He finally answered. It was a satisfactory answer to his query, so he returned to his station, but Spock knew that there was much more to that story. It just wasn't wise to ask for details at that moment. "Is everyone aboard?"

"Yes, Captain." Sulu answered checking his flight controls. "Uhura's paint job fooled everyone. At least I don't think Matt or Peter had to persuade anyone."

"Sorry I am late, Captain!" Chekov shouted as he ran to his station out of breath. "I just heard ve vere leaving." He was perky and fully sober to Spock's relief.

"We'll discuss this later, Ensign." Jim replied. "Set a course for Federation airspace. Sulu, confirm the speed with engineering. I don't want to tear apart everything they patched together."

"Aye, Sir." Sulu said glancing warily at Chekov. He hadn't quite observed his Captain in such a strange mood before. If Chekov was in trouble, he wondered if he too was on the hook as the one technically in charge. If Chekov drank too much it was ultimately his fault and he could see months of bathroom sanitary duty in his future.

"Spock," Jim ground out, "may I speak with you?" He noted the tense looks on the faces of his crew and he added, "In private?"

"Of course, Captain." Spock replied standing at attention.

Jim led them to the nearby conference room and paced as Spock watched with his usual noncommittal expression. After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke. "We are screwed, Spock."

"How so, Captain?" He asked dispassionately. Now was not the time to remind him that the current situation was nothing like passionate intercourse.

"The Romulan that the Klingons had- the scientist we found on the ship? He's out there and he's trying to cut a deal with the Klingons." He replied pointing his finger in some indiscriminate direction to illustrate his point. "He is telling the Klingons he will give them the information they wanted on some weapon he was working on if they turn us over."

"And aside from general hatred of the Romulans, there is nothing to prohibit them from doing so." Spock reasoned.

"Exactly. On top of that, the scientist- Mendak- assured me safe passage if we give up Peter and Sylar. You and I both know that although the Romulans are barbarians, they are generally good on their word."

"So you are contemplating exchanging the lives of two for the many that reside on the ship." He confirmed. "It is a logical course of action."

"But I can't!" Jim sighed. "I can't just hand them over. They aren't mine to give and we can't keep using them like pawns. No, we have to end this once and for all."

"What did you have in mind?"

"We are leaving. If the Romulans attack, we will defend ourselves with everything we've got. Alert any nearby starships that we are in need of assistance. If we can't beat them, we'll outrun them."

"And if the Klingons aid in out capture?" He prodded.

"They won't." Jim assured. "It cost me everything I had, but I bought their assurance that they won't chase us. They won't help us, but they won't interfere either."

"Bribery. The only thing the Klingons hold in higher esteem than honor." Spock observed wryly.

Mendak was quite pleased with himself. He sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk and pondered whether or not his own diplomatic skills eclipsed that of his traitor father's. He had the Klingons eating out of his hand with the dangling promise of revealing his work on the very bombs he carried onboard- the very ones he would wipe out the Enterprise with. He had no intention of actually following through, he just wanted the Klingons to stop interfering with his plans and the only way to do so was to appeal to their greed and fear and it looked like his plan would work. They swallowed his implications hook line and sinker.

He no more planned on honoring his agreement with Starfleet than he did with the Klingons. He knew enough about the young Captain Kirk to know that he would never willingly hand over the demigods and truthfully, even if he did there was no realistic way he could hold and control them on the ship until he returned to Romulus. The only rational conclusion was to destroy them all. If he couldn't have them, no one would. In some skewed way he would probably be a bigger hero in the eyes of his people with the current turn of events than he was before he left. Yes, he would certainly die in the effort, but sacrifices had to be made.

He checked the screen of his ship and counted the number of remaining vessels at his disposal. The Klingons were impressively accurate with their weapons and he had sustained heavy losses to his fleet. No matter, he really only needed a small unit to delay the Klingons should they double cross him while he drew a bead on the Enterprise. If all went well, they would leave the safety and protection of the starbase and he would silently stalk them until the opportunity presented itself.

"Sir, the ship is leaving the dock." His navigator alerted.

Mendak watched the battered hull of the Enterprise limp away like a wounded animal and he had to resist the urge to destroy them right then and there. "Very well," he smiled, "cloak and follow them."


	63. Chapter 63 Fight the Future

**Chapter 63- Fight the Future**

Jim sat tensely in his chair, watching the darkness of the outlying starfield stretch before him to infinity as the pinpoints of light slowly passed. The ship was barely functional, his crew was in imminent danger, and he knew it. He would have asked Chekov for yet another scan to be sure the space surrounding them was unoccupied, but he just asked for one not more than three minutes ago and he didn't want to seem paranoid. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. He had no proof, but he knew it just the same.

Although his instinct was to go full bore in a race to the imaginary line that signified Federation airspace, he knew that slow and steady would have to be the order of the day. Scotty and his crew had worked furiously to get the ship in something of a working order and they continued to work, rerouting power to the photon banks and shields that gave them some sense of protection although should they come under attack they would likely fail quickly. "Uhura, any replies to the distress signal?"

"Yes, captain. The Billings and the Olympia have responded, but they are out of position. They are redirecting now. Approximate ETA 1 hour."

"Great." Jim sighed heavily as he sat back in his chair. There was no way he could go faster and he knew that they were moving as fast as they could, but he wasn't convinced they would arrive in time. He deliberated a moment longer before deciding that he would rather risk his crew thinking he was hypervigilant than not reacting and being blown to bits. Bones was right: an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure. "Chekov- round up our guests and bring them up here. We're going to have to conscript them one last time."

"Yes, Captain." He nodded before dashing off to the lift.

He saw the brief look of resignation that crossed the faces of his crew. It was as good as him waving the white flag and admitting they were done for. Hopefully, the evolved humans could get them all out of this one last jam and then…and then what? Yet another difficulty to overcome ad infinitum and the superhumans wouldn't always be there to lend a hand. He didn't give a damn if it made him look weak- he would rather sacrifice his reputation if it meant saving his crew. What good would it do to be stubbornly macho if they all were lost? They would become a footnote in history and yet another memorial on the Starfleet campus. That just wasn't his idea of a satisfactory outcome.

"You wanted to see us?" Noah asked in a slightly knowing tone.

Jim turned to see the whole crew standing behind their leader, if they had one. The closer he looked, he realized Chekov hadn't completely done his job. "Where's Peter and Hiro?" He asked slightly irritated. "Or Sylar?"

"They left the ship." Matt explained. "Well, Peter and Hiro anyway. Chekov is still trying to track down Sylar."

"Who the hell said they could leave?" Jim barked. He immediately realized his error and sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess they don't need my permission to take leave. It just would have been nice to have them here."

"What's going on?" Mohinder asked looking at the blank screen and seeing no impending danger. "How may we be of assistance?"

Jim stood from his chair and placed his hands on his hips with a hardness to his features that none of them had quite seen before. "I know you have done a lot to help us since you came aboard. The truth is, I can't offer you adequate protection anymore. The ship is nearly disabled and we won't be safe until we reach Federation airspace. If we come under attack, there is a good chance we won't make it."

Nathan looked at the crew and noted the grim yet fatalistic expressions and he knew that look: it was the knowledge that you were heading into a suicide mission, but you had too much honor to back down. "We can't leave you like that." He stated emphatically. "An officer never leaves his men no matter what. Consider us reinforcements." Jim smirked at the man who's professional record he had wrongly questioned before.

"How can we help?" Claire asked holding her head high. "Tell us where to go."

"Well, it's unfortunate that both teleporters are gone and Sylar is MIA." Jim lamented with a sigh.

"Sorry, Sir!" Chekov apologized as Sylar warily trailed him off the lift. "It took me longer than I expected to find him." Sylar glanced stonily at the young Russian. It wasn't like he was hiding in a hatch or something.

"Glad you could join us." Jim jokingly chided. "In the absence of Peter, you will be the ace in the hole."

"What?" He almost hissed. "Where's Peter?" He was starting to resent being put upon and he really hated being thought of as a substitute boy scout.

"He went back." Matt restated in a bored tone. "With Hiro."

"Ando, I can probably use you down in engineering to power the photon banks if needed." Jim paced thoughtfully. "Claire, you might be most useful in helping the medical team evacuate the injured from areas of the ship that are hit. It's a dangerous job, but your ability would come in handy. Noah, the security team could use your skills to hunt and capture anyone who tries to board the ship."

"Sounds fair," He smirked, "if I get to use my own gun."

Jim noted the huge sidearm at his waist and shrugged. "If it makes you happy. Just be careful with that thing. Matt, I know you can't use your powers across video feed but you were a policeman so you can help security too. Nathan…" he paused while he considered what job he could be best at. "Hang out up here for now. I have a few ideas for you. Sylar- you too. As the jack of all trades, we'll have to take it as it comes. Mohinder, I think it's obvious you belong in sickbay."

"It's all good, but do I have to wear the red jumpsuit?" Matt asked apprehensively. "Really, I look ridiculous. Attack of the killer tomato."

Peter and Hiro sat across from each other at a small, cozy, non-descript eatery in Greenwich Village. Peter stared into his cup of black coffee while Hiro happily tore into a plate of waffles with a huge smile on his face. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry: his time in the prison combined with his avoidance of replicated food had nearly wasted him away to nothing, but he felt as though he was wasting his precious time at the diner when they were sent on a recon mission. Feeling as though he should be doing something, he picked up a newspaper that had been abandoned on the table next to him and began leafing through it for any clues as to the current state of affairs.

"When are we?" Hiro asked with his mouth full.

Peter ignored the poor manners and answered, "About a week or so after we left- assuming this is today's paper."

"What's news in New York?" His partner inquired.

Peter scanned the headlines as he flipped the pages. "There's a punk rock music festival going on in the Red Hook, a man was arrested in Times Square for running around naked screaming he was the king of the marshmallows. Macy's is having a huge semi-annual sale. Um…a building permit has been denied for another gaudy highrise in SoHo, and Linday Lohan has been arrested again for flashing her boobs at a crowd in a mall."

Hiro shook his head sadly. "That girl should grow up. It brings shame to her family."

"I don't think she cares about that." Peter hummed lightly as he continued to browse. "But, the good news is I don't see anything that is important to us."

"No flying man?"

Peter's mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "He does have a name, you know."

"Hai. But how will we know for sure everything is OK?" He asked worried.

"We will have to find someone safe to ask." Peter replied darkly. "And as everyone else in this timeframe is gone, that leaves only one person." He tossed a few bills on the table and in the blink of an eye whisked them away.

Hiro stood looking up at the unusually large mansion as though it were haunted. "I thought you said safe." He almost whispered.

"I'm not thrilled about this either, Hiro, but it's our best bet." Peter grumbled as he hesitantly rang the doorbell.

The door opened slowly and the owner peered down at the guests as if they were as welcome as insurance salesmen. "Ma." Peter nodded bravely.

"Peter, so nice to see you." Angela cooed in her curt business like voice that always sounded so cold. "I knew you would come, I just didn't think it would be so soon." With that she abruptly turned and walked away leaving them on the stoop to let themselves in. "I know why you are here, but I don't know where you have been." She turned to face them again, the very definition of poise and power etched into the hardened features of her face. "Why don't you come into the library and tell me about the future you have averted."

"You didn't see it?" He asked incredulously.

"I always see things, Peter, but you know how it is. All I know is that things are not as they should be and I assume you had something to do with this."

"You say it like it's a bad thing." He huffed indignantly. "He was going to succeed, Ma! I had to stop him before he killed us all!"

"I assume you mean your brother." She stated matter of factly. "It is no secret that Nathan's failures or successes are not entirely of his own doing, you know this."

"Yeah," he scoffed, "like using him in your and Linderman's plot to blow up the city. Except it was _me_, Ma!" His voice was tense with the stress and anger he still felt over being used.

"An unforeseen consequence." She casually dismissed as though it were some small detail. "My point is, when you pull the strings of fate, you often end up getting bound by them. Whatever disaster you think you may have undone, you might have unleashed a far greater misery."

"I can't imagine a fate worse than the extinction of all of us at his hands. Hiro and I were in the future, Ma, we saw it firsthand. I don't care if you believe what I did was right or justified. All I care about is our safety. Is it safe for us to come back?"

Angela held her head high and regarded her youngest son with a sense of determination and sadness. Then quietly she replied, "As safe as it ever can be."

Peter pursed his lips in frustration. Even in this moment when he needed a straight answer on something so important, she was going to deny him the assurance and play games by giving him a cryptic answer. He wanted to scream, but he knew this was as good as it was going to get. No amount of pleading or logic would move her. This is the way it has always been.

He turned to storm out of his former home but not before his mother's voice reached his ears. "Peter, I wish that your actions were correct, but the future is not as you hoped it would be. I have seen the future too."

Peter said nothing as he walked briskly down the street in no particular direction so long as it was away from his mother. Hiro jogged to keep up, also relieved to be released from the dragon's lair. Suddenly Sylar didn't seem so scary in comparison- at least he was usually honest about what he was going to do to you and said so in no uncertain terms.

"What did she mean?" Hiro asked.

"How the hell should I know?" He growled. "She wouldn't give you a straight answer if you held a gun to her head."

"But the future…"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. "The future is constantly being remade every moment. I don't know what she saw, but our actions here and now determine what the future will be. I for one am not willing to just lay down and accept a world where we don't exist. Now what do you say we go and get the others to bring them back and start rebuilding the future we want?"

Hiro smiled and nodded in agreement and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he and Peter were back on the ship in the middle of sheer chaos.


	64. Chapter 64 Battle Stations!

**Chapter 64- Battle Stations! **

The look of sheer panic could not be more plain on Hiro's face as he found himself in the middle of bedlam- people were running past him at breakneck speed, the hallway was filled with thick smoke, and alarms were sounding along with flashing lights. Something was terribly wrong and they had come too late. Was this what Angela meant?

"Hiro!" Peter's voice cut through the din, "C'mon! we have to find the others!"

"Move it!" Claire's voice demanded as she ran past guiding a gurney down the hall. She was covered in blood, although Peter didn't know if it was hers or the unfortunate person laying on the gurney. From the looks of it, the victim had been near an explosion and was bleeding out quickly.

"Claire!" He called instinctively running alongside the gurney trying desperately to do what he could to aid the wounded man until they got to sickbay. "What the hell happened?"

"We are being attacked." She stated with an odd sense of detachment. She had a job to do and no matter the horrors of what she was seeing, she was going to do that job to the best of her ability. She was to ferry the wounded to sickbay and she was going to run until her muscles ached…and then she would run some more until the last person was accounted for.

For Peter, it was just another day at the office as he tried his best to apply even pressure to the gaping chest wound to stop the bleeding as he ran alongside. "Who is attacking us?"

"I don't know." She admitted. "Romulans, I think." She glanced down at her passenger and didn't like the ashen complexion of his skin. "Hold on," she encouraged, "we're almost there." They went crashing through the sickbay doors and right into a pile of suffering and misery. "Dr. McCoy!" She shouted. "Where do you want this one?"

McCoy had his hands deep in the abdomen of a yeoman, but managed to turn and with a squint assessed the newest arrival's prognosis. With a shake of his head, Claire knew that the man didn't stand a chance and that she should take him to the back of the room and essentially leave him for dead. Although she had conflicting feelings about this system of care rationing, she thought it best to just not feel at all- and to not look him in the eye as she took him to his final destination or as she turned to leave for her next run. It was just too painful to think about.

"Are you ok?" Peter asked placing his hand warmly on her shoulder. He could see it in her eyes: the frustration and hopelessness that he himself felt at the beginning of his career when he thought he could save every one of his patients if he just tried hard enough. She nodded bravely, but he knew better. He trusted her to hold it together for now, but she would cry later and she deserved to.

"Peter!" McCoy yelled as he ran to his next patient. "I could sure use your nursing skills if you aren't busy. I'm up to my eyeballs in triage here."

"Of course." He agreed jumping in as though he always belonged, applying bandages and learning how to use the dermal regenerator on the fly.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Sylar stood at the back of the bridge, casually leaning against Uhura's station with his arms folded watching the ensuing battle as calmly as if he were meditating and it was starting to piss her off. Even if he was immortal, at least he could have the decency to pretend he was just a little concerned. So far all of the ordinance that the Romulans had used were photons, with which he could do nothing, so he bided his time until it was his turn to bat.

"Ando!" Jim yelled into the intercom system. "We could use some more juice!"

"OK!" Ando replied with determination.

"Sulu, fire when ready!" He commanded. He was more or less pleased with the results, but it was not exactly total success and they were hanging by a thread.

"Sir! Two people have boarded the ship!" Chekov alerted.

"Get Security on it." He paused to take in Sylar and Nathan at the back of the room. "You guys ready?" He asked. "I need some unconventional tactics here."

"What do you want us to do?" Nathan asked standing straight while Sylar glanced sideways at him like he was a tool for standing at attention like a well trained dog.

"There are too many ships for us to take on at once. It's risky, but I need you two to take a shuttle craft. Nathan, you have flight experience and things haven't changed much. Spock- guide them remotely, but I need you here. Sylar, do whatever you can to disable the ships."

He arched his eyebrow and suspiciously asked, "Anything?"

"Yes- whatever. Blow the damn things to bits if you can. This is war dammit." He reminded.

"Aye, Captain." Sylar lazily saluted as he swaggered toward the lift. He wasn't thrilled about being in a small spacecraft with Nathan, but at least he had been given free rein to do as he saw fit no questions asked and that did please him greatly.

He knew exactly where the shuttles were kept after having to levitate one during the ridiculous tests he and Peter participated in. He climbed in and took the passenger's seat, buckling himself in while Nathan took stock of the controls aided by Spock's disembodied voice dispassionately giving instructions on the operation.

All in all Nathan was pleased that with a few exceptions, the flight controls were remarkably similar to those of his F-15 fighter jet he flew during the war. He was fairly sure that the mechanics of flight would be different in the vacuum of space than it was with the force of gravity on earth, but he would be slow and cautious at first until he got a better feel for the way the craft handled. No barrel rolls or fancy maneuvers for the time being. He glanced at his wingman and found it almost impossible that he was sitting next to a serial killer and everyone trusted this guy with their fate.

While he waited for the plasma shield to dissipate to allow him to leave the dock, he looked straight ahead and cleared his throat. "I guess I should apologize for the way I have treated you over the past few days." The words were hard for him to say and suddenly his throat felt dry- especially when he felt Sylar's sharp, dark eyes cut into him with unexpected surprise. "I was wrong about you. You were the only one that could really help Pete when he needed you and you did it." He ventured a sideways glance at his partner and added, "Thanks for saving my little brother. Without him, I'd probably be more like you."

Sylar sat silently for a moment before smirking. "You couldn't be me." He declared. "Do me a favor and send me a Hallmark card later. Just fly the damn ship and try not to get us killed."

Unbeknownst to Nathan, he had left the com switch on, so Spock heard every heartfelt word fall awkwardly out of the Senator's mouth. He sat blinking at his console, unable to put words to what he had just witnessed other than…well…awkward. Nathan had done everything but say 'I love you man' and Spock could almost predict with pinpoint accuracy what was going through Sylar's head at that moment. Although he did have to admit that he responded remarkably well given the circumstances.

In his own experience, Jim had strayed too close to violating that comfort zone on more than one occasion and had the unfortunate habit of putting his hands on him- be it to slap him on the back or repeatedly poke him in the arm until he was forced to issue a cease and desist request. It never failed that he did this when they were in the lift thereby severely limiting his ability to simply walk away. He apparently found it most amusing to see how long it would be before the legendary Vulcan stoicism reached the breaking point. While he good naturedly played along, half because he didn't want to give Jim the satisfaction of giving in too soon and half because he had a reputation to uphold, the human side of him just once wanted to bitch slap his Captain just to watch those beautiful baby blues well up with tears and relish in the absolute look of shock that would slowly settle on his pale face. Spock was not a cruel man by any means, but he did believe in giving one a taste of their own medicine as humans loved to say. On the rare occasion he did administer the bitter dose, he found it was usually an immediate cure for the obnoxious behavior.

He imagined that Sylar felt much the same way, except he would likely use a power and the possibilities were ghastly. He could electrocute Nathan as he did Jim, he could burn him to a cinder as Peter was, or wait to throw him out of the shuttle once they left the safety of the ship so he would die a horribly slow and painful death as he suffocated. He couldn't in any way condone such an action, but he certainly could understand it.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"The target is 10 meters from your location." Chimed the voice in Matt and Noah's ears from the tiny earbud microphones they were outfitted with. The men paused and made silent gestures between them to plan the attack. It was mutually decided that Noah would take down the perp while Matt provided cover.

Matt readied his security issued phaser and gave the gun a condescending smirk in comparison to Noah's hand cannon. It looked like a toy gun and he had his doubts as to its efficacy. He gave it a quick turn in his hand and took a closer look. It was well balanced at least and remarkably light. It also appeared to have different settings "S" and "K"- whatever that meant. One thing he didn't notice was an ammunition clip and he was perplexed. He wondered if it was semi-automatic or if he could just hold the trigger down for rapid fire. How much recoil could it have? Perhaps he should have clarified these things with the Security staff before he took it and dashed off behind Noah. He decided to play it safe and use a standard two handed grip and prepare for a kickback like a shotgun. Having the gun snap back and break his nose would just be too embarrassing to explain.

"Five meters and closing." The voice warned. Noah and Matt instinctively pushed their backs harder against the wall in an effort to hide and patiently waited. The intruder was unwittingly walking right into a trap. By the time he noticed them it would be too late; Noah's well trained aim would stop him in his tracks before he could even react. Matt was temporarily distracted by Noah's glasses. Standing behind him as he was, he could just see through the right lens of the iconic glasses and for a moment he knew what it was like to be on the other side of them. What surprised him was that they appeared to actually be prescription- nothing too heavy- but certainly not for cosmetic purposes as he had always assumed. HRG was actually the victim of middle aged vision changes…who would have thought?

"Freeze!" Noah shouted bringing his gun up swiftly as the intruder passed. He roughly slammed the man up against the wall with is free hand and used his body weight as leverage to keep him there while he pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of the interloper's head. Although it appeared he had things well in hand, Matt raised his own gun with a serious look on his face just in case…

"No shoot!" The man pleaded raising his hands in surrender. "Please, no shoot!"

Noah released his grip slightly and asked, "Hiro?"

"Hai!" The man pleaded. "It is me, Mr. Bennet. I came back."

Noah released the terrified little man and holstered his gun somewhat agitated. "You almost got yourself killed. You picked a fine time to come back. As you see, things are a little crazy around here."

Hiro tried to quell his panic and regain some sense of self-control after being ambushed. He glanced around and nodded furiously. "I see. Angela Petrelli warned of this. I think."

"You saw Angela?" Noah asked concerned. "What did she say?"

"She told Peter the future was not what he wanted. We made big mistake." He repeated although even he didn't really know what it meant. The current circumstances seemed to fit well enough for him, though.

"What the hell does that mean" Matt asked exasperated.

"I don't know what she saw," Noah almost groaned, "but let's hope it wasn't this."


	65. Chapter 65 What Lies Beneath

**Chapter 65- What Lies Beneath**

Mendak was rather feeling like the cat toying with an injured mouse and he was loving every minute of it. Oh the irony! He got to watch the mighty Captain Kirk squirm and sweat as he tried everything his feeble little human brain could think of to save his ass, and he had to tip his proverbial hat to his opponent; he was indeed pulling some puzzling tricks out of his sleeve. How exactly he was able to fire with such power when the ship's energy reserves were dangerously low was perplexing, but somehow he or that mousy little engineer of his had managed the impossible. But it didn't matter, Kirk could throw all of the stones he wanted, when and only when he felt like it he would tire of the defiance and unleash hell.

Only a few ships survived the Klingon onslaught and were in good enough condition to follow the Enterprise, but for the time being the numbers were in his favor despite a few lucky shots that disabled two of them. What mattered was that Mendak had witnesses to his impending glory. When he released the secret weapons that would punch through the weak defense shields of Starfleet's flagship and obliterate it, he wanted all to see his genius. At first he thought he would die in the venture, but fate had smiled on him a second time and it was looking more and more that he had a hero's welcome to return to in his future.

"Sir!" His second in command shouted. "The Enterprise has launched a shuttle craft."

"Are they abandoning ship?" He asked almost incredulously. He didn't pin Kirk for a coward and really, where could they possibly go? Without a rescue ship they were sitting ducks.

"No, Sir. Just one occupied by two humans." He replied somewhat disappointed. Dishonor before death would have been especially sweet.

"What are you up to, Kirk?" Mendak muttered softly to himself as he squinted at the tiny shuttlecraft on his screen.

Jim quickly rubbed his face in exhaustion before once more sitting up straight in his chair to address the next crisis. "Spock- status."

Spock calmly looked over his panel. Even if the warning lights seemed to be panicking, he wasn't about to give in himself. "The shuttle has left the dock. Damage on almost all lower decks. McCoy's casualty log has not been updated in 7 minutes- last count 14 dead and 52 wounded." He pushed some buttons on his console and added, "The fire suppression system on decks 10 and 11 have ceased."

"So the fire's out." Jim nodded.

"A likely conclusion, however, the sensors may have simply melted." Spock replied poker faced.

"Very uplifting report, Spock. Thank you." Jim sighed as he hung his head in his hands. He turned abruptly at the sound of Noah's voice.

"Found your intruder." He gestured towards Hiro who had a sheepish look on his face. "I don't think he's of much value to you as a hostage, though."

"Not as a hostage…" Jim almost whispered as his eyes grew large, "but he's definitely valuable."

"I am?" He wondered aloud.

"Oh yeah." Jim smiled. "I think I just figured out a way to win."

"How's that?" Matt asked suspiciously.

"We can't beat them with firepower and we can't hold them off until help arrives. But, if the ships are disabled one by one…" he trailed off.

"Captain, what are you suggesting?" Spock asked intrigued.

"Peter is busy down in sickbay and he can stay there if that's where he's needed. Hiro, as the only other teleporter, I need you to board each and every one of those ships and disengage the core power. After you get out, we can destroy them."

"Because the shields will lose power." Sulu smiled with an appreciative nod.

"And you are wery fast." Chekov added. "So fast they vill not know vhat happened until it is too late."

Hiro looked unsure, but if this was to be his duty he would accept it. "How do I…?"

"Don't worry," Jim smiled jabbing the intercom button on his chair, "Scotty! Get your ass up here on the double!"

Her legs burned like fire, but the pain was fleeting and paled in comparison to those who had been injured. At least her ability allowed her to recover quickly- from the burn of lactic acid in her fatigued muscles to the ugly gash she had sustained pulling a crew member out of a twisted heap of metal. She was indestructible and Jim was right, the job she was asked to do was fraught with danger from fires and explosions, but she was the perfect person for the rescue mission. In some ways it reminded her of the time she rescued the man from the burning train wreck back in Odessa. For once she felt needed- uniquely needed- and although she was trying her best to block out all of the unpleasant images that assaulted her relatively innocent psyche, time and again she ran back into danger to pull yet another person from the jaws of death. That was, if she could get them to the sickbay in time.

Her ability to heal was by far faster than even the best technology on board, but even she was amazed that sometimes a person she had just dropped off in fairly bad shape was up and walking around by the time she came back with the next patient. The one she currently had was not as bad as some of the others, so she knew by now that meant a nurse could take them without bothering Dr. McCoy. The last time she saw him, he was covered in blood and looking very tired and angry all at the same time. She was beginning to understand how he felt.

"Peter!" She called sliding her patient up next to her uncle while he was fleetingly unoccupied. "She was exposed to smoke and I think her arm's broken." She reported.

Peter nodded and smiled. How many times had he been in her situation giving a hand off to the ER doctors? Now it felt strange to have the tables turned, but the situation was what it was. "Hey there." He smiled warmly at the injured woman. "I'm Peter. What's your name?"

"Kelly, Sir." She answered bravely despite a nasty cough.

"You can just call me Peter." He chuckled reaching for his tricorder. "Let's have a look at you, shall we?" Claire watched as in just a few seconds Peter was able to put the woman at ease with just a few smiles and a warm tone of voice. She shook her head and smiled- she too felt the same when she first met him. It was just who he was and she was glad to think that there were people like him in the world who decided to use their gifts- superhuman or not- to help those in need as she once was.

"How's it lookin' out there?" McCoy's gruff voice startled her as he hurried past to see to another patient nearby.

"Uh…it's getting thin." She sighed. "My deck is clear. Do you need me somewhere else?"

McCoy's sharp eyes cut into her momentarily. "I'm sorry about this, kid. Really. This is no place for you." He nearly growled.

She squared her shoulders and replied. "Well, I'm here now and I'll stick around as long as I'm needed." He looked exhausted, but there was a steely determination to him that kept him going. As long as he had patients, he would be there and she could see that. She felt as though she should do the same.

He smirked and said, "Stubborn like your Daddy I see."

"Which one?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter I guess," he shrugged, "in this case it's not a bad thing. Sweep your deck one last time just to be sure there's no one left and then check with the charge nurse to see where the most casualties are coming from."

Nathan concentrated very hard, intuitively learning the shuttle's capabilities by noting the slightest change in his muscles with each small movement and the way the craft reacted. It was how he flew jets and it served him well. Flying in space was remarkably similar to flying on Earth with one notable difference: without gravity there was no appreciable drag and therefore no perception of G's with which to gauge speed. This was disappointing to him because he loved the feeling of being pushed into his seat during take-off and the exhilaration of floating during rapid loss of altitude. There were times when he could swear he felt the blood being pushed out of his capillaries and only intense drills and training kept him from blacking out during maneuvers.

While on Earth, one could use landmarks to judge distance, in space there really were no distinguishing markers aside from the tiny pinpoints of light that he knew were stars. He also knew that any given star could be millions of light years away, so using them for navigation was out: he had to rely on his instrument panel to know where he was going.

Sylar calmly looked out the window at the massive ships floating in the vacuum of space and even being as jaded as he was, he couldn't help but be impressed with the scope of things. Suddenly he felt insignificant and small in the tiny craft and that was a feeling he detested- that was how Gabriel felt and since then he fought it with everything in him. He took in the sights of the battered skin of the Enterprise and noted bits of debris slowly floating away from a huge gash in the burned hull and it seemed surreal. Everything was silent and he knew that likely there were people floating among the debris and the darkness, but none of it felt real.

"2:00." Nathan abruptly stated.

Sylar glanced at his partner. "What?"

"2:00!" Nathan repeated impatiently pointing to his right. "_That_ way!"

Sylar turned to see another small craft making its way toward them. It was decidedly of a different make than the one he was in which made him realize it was an enemy ship. He waited until the craft came closer and he could see the pilot. While it looked remarkably like the man he found in the box on the Klingon ship, the arrangement of tattoos on the face were not the same. It didn't matter to him- it was nothing personal. He reached out with one hand and used his telekinesis to shatter the windshield of the craft into a million glittering shards while he pulled the unfortunate being from the craft with the other just to be sure he couldn't get access to any life support systems that may be onboard. He momentarily held the Romulan suspended among the floating glass until he realized that there was no need: there was no gravity in space and he let go.

Nathan's gut wrenched as he watched the man reflexively kick and twist as he gasped for air that didn't exist. He had never before watched someone die in real time- let alone in such a horrific way, but here he was witnessing another living being suffocate to death and it seemed to drag on forever. What bothered him more was that his partner didn't seem at all affected by it. If anything, he appeared to be bored and that sent chills up his spine. He had probably murdered so many people he had become completely numb and the coldness in his eyes reminded Nathan of his true nature. He had almost been fooled. He, like Peter, had almost believed that he had changed. Yet that momentary glimpse into the darkness of his soul reminded him that Sylar would always be a monster trapped in a twisted, ticking psyche no matter what mask he wore. A true wolf in sheep's clothing.


	66. Chapter 66 Bring It

**Chapter 66- Bring It**

Scotty looked skeptically at Hiro. "Are ya bloody sure aboot this?" Hiro just shrugged his shoulders with a polite smile.

"It will work." Jim patiently replied. "Just signal us when you disable the power so we can act quickly. Jump from ship to ship as fast as you can. I don't want to give them time to figure out what we're doing."

"Sir, the enemy shuttle is adrift and appears to be unmanned." Sulu reported.

"Unmanned?" Uhura asked perplexed. "What happened to the pilot?"

"Sylar's down there." Matt reminded her. "You probably don't want to know."

"Right." She agreed returning her attention to her station. He _was_ probably right. "Sir, we have an incoming from Mendak."

"Put it onscreen and stream it to the shuttle. I want everyone to know what's going on." Jim ordered returning to his seat with authority.

"Kirk." Mendak sneered as he loomed large on the screen. "I think this little game has gone on long enough. You have fought admirably, but I am growing tired. This is your last chance. Turn over the gods or I will obliterate you."

"Obliterate?" Jim mocked with a smile. "Wow. That's pretty harsh."

Mendak fought to keep his cool in the face of such a defiant young whelp, but he could now say that Kirk came by his reputation honestly. "You know that weapon that the Klingons were going on about?" He casually asked. "It is more than just an idea. You see, it is very real and I have two of them onboard and aimed at your ship. Admittedly, I haven't tested them yet so I can't say with 100% certainty that they will do as they are designed to. So, call it a phase I test. If they fail, the impact alone will still destroy your ship. And if they succeed," he paused to lean into the camera and smile, "then you will be obliterated."

"Well," Jim replied with disingenuous concern on his face, "that sounds really scary. But as I told you before, you can't have them so I guess you'll just have to bring it." If he would have had an apple right then he would have taken a vicious bite out of it just to irritate him.

After Mendak signed off, Spock slowly turned in his seat and cautiously asked, "Bring it, Captain?"

"Yeah, why not?" He replied jovially. "It isn't like he wouldn't have done it even if we did turn them over, right Spock?"

"That is the highest probable outcome." He conceded.

"Well then, let's just hope those weapons turn out to be duds. Spock, alert the away team that they will have to deal with those weapons if they can. All of our power will be directed to the forward shields and the photon banks. Hopefully we can knock all of their ships down before they can fire their big guns. Ando?" He called into the intercom.

"Hello!" Ando replied.

"Ando, get ready for some sustained power generation. Can you do that?"

"I was told we are 'bringing it' so- yes!" He enthusiastically answered.

"Good man. Hiro, Scotty- you boys ready?"

"Aye, Sir!" Scotty nodded giddy with anticipation. He had never done anything like it before and had never heard of this as a battlefield strategy, but that was partly why he signed on to the Enterprise. It was so exciting!

"Alright. Uhura- listen for Scotty's communicator ping and map it out on the screen. Chekov- as soon as she pins it- fire. Ready? Go!"

Before Scotty knew it, he was in the engine room of a Romulan ship. "Bloody.." He wondered looking around before remembering what they were supposed to do. "Right." He focused on the main control panel for the ship's power and thought back to his days at the Academy when he was working on advanced mechanics and various power configurations. "There ya are ya little bugger." He cooed as he yanked the main routing chip from its socket, plunging the ship into darkness. He fumbled for his communicator and hit the chirp button to alert Uhura. "Let's go!" He urged Hiro and off they went to the next ship.

"Got it!" Uhura yelled as she marked the location of the signal. Chekov noted the coordinates and fired a volley directly at the disabled ship, destroying it. "Another one!" She warned. Before she could mark the latest, another came in. "Damn!" She muttered in amazement. They were clearly taking Jim's order to move quickly very seriously.

From his station, Spock watched as one by one the ships were marked for destruction and even he found himself pondering the improbability of it all. This was a real life Maru and yet again, Jim Kirk had found a loophole that shouldn't exist. It looked as though he were going to beat the system yet again. The staggering statistical odds made his brain hurt.

Mendak sat agape as one by one his support ships inexplicably lost power and were summarily destroyed by the Enterprise as if they had somehow orchestrated it. He couldn't begin to explain what caused the widespread outage, the Enterprise was not emitting any kind of beam or sending out EMP bursts- and even if they wanted to they didn't have the power. One ship was an anomaly, but the count was steadily rising and in a matter of 30 seconds he had lost 6 ships with no explanation and no time for a distress signal to be sent from the ships under attack to offer a clue.

"2 more ships down, Sir." His second in command alerted sounding slightly panicked.

Mendak sat back in his seat in a fury. He had been patient, he had offered the young Captain a way out. A small bargain that was beyond reasonable and his opponent had spit in his face. The only reason for Kirk to fight so hard only served to confirm his suspicions: Starfleet was onto the powers of the humans and wanted to use them for their own purposes. Having seen firsthand what the possibilities of such knowledge would mean, he knew he had no other option. If he couldn't have them, he would do all he could to deny Starfleet the power.

"Fire the weapons." He calmly ordered.

"But Sir, we…"

"Do it!" He roared.

"Bridge to engineering- load and fire the weapons on the order of the Captain."

Mendak slowly smiled as he watched the two gleaming white missiles leave his ship and cross the darkness to deliver death and destruction to his enemy. "Record this." He commanded. "This is scientific data."

His second warily glanced at him over his shoulder. "Aye, Sir."

In the shuttle, Nathan and Sylar looked at one another mystified and slightly amused. "Bring it?" Sylar smirked.

Nathan smiled and shook his head. "I guess we're bringin' it."

"I wonder what the weapons are he was talking about." Sylar mused pondering the transmission he and Nathan had overheard.

"Probably those." Nathan calmly stated nodding to two fuzzy objects in the far distance.

"How do you know?" He asked perplexed. His internal lie detector didn't go off, so he knew it wasn't a joke.

"The warning light." He answered gesturing to a blinking light on his panel. "Says incoming ordinance."

"Makes sense." Sylar conceded somewhat embarrassed at the bleeding obvious. "It was our job to take it out, right? Let's go."

"What do you plan on doing?" Nathan asked curiously as he guided the craft toward the objects despite the warning alarm's shrieking.

"I have no idea what they are doing to destroy those ships, but it seems to me the one that the bombs came from is the leader. To kill a snake…"

"You cut off the head." He finished solemnly.

"Exactly." He confirmed in a low voice. "Get me close."

Nathan sidled up as close as he could in the path of the bomb on the Sylar's assurance that he could handle it. And handle it he did using his telekinesis to stop the forward progression of the bombs toward the ship. They were moving at more velocity than he expected, but with great concentration he held firm. He tilted his head slightly and slowly rotated his hand to turn the missiles back in the direction they had come, only to be interrupted by Spock's voice, "Sylar, cease your current projection. Hiro and Mr. Scott are aboard the ship you intend to destroy."

"Jesus! Why?" Nathan howled.

"Sylar, are you able to hold the weapons in the current position for approximately 10 seconds longer?" Spock asked dispassionately.

Nathan glanced at his partner when he didn't answer right away and noted the intense look in his dark eyes and the blood that ran from his nose. "Hang in there, man." He encouraged. "Just a few more seconds."

Sylar barely heard him. The amount of force needed to hold missiles that weighed tons fueled by thrusters was certainly more than an armored police truck and perhaps this was the limit Dr. McCoy was looking for in his tests. "5…4…3…2…1" Spock counted. "They are safely aboard. You may fire at will." Sylar sighed and slumped unconscious in his seat as the weapons returned to their point of origin and exploded in a magnificent cloud of angry red and bright yellows speckled with black flecks of debris from the ship that once was.

Nathan watched breathless and turned excitedly to his partner to congratulate him, but it was plain he didn't get to see the results of his efforts. "Well done," he quietly commended turning the craft back to the dock, "let's get you home."

On the deck, Hiro watched the explosion of the last ship with a wondrous smile and yelled "Yatta!" with his fists raised. Scotty threw all of his stolen power chips in the air, laughing like a mad man while the rest of the crew cheered. They had faced the enemy with valor and came out victorious despite the overwhelming odds. Matt gave Noah a slap on the back which normally would have earned him a broken arm, but these were special circumstances and he let it slide as he readjusted his glasses.

Down in sickbay, Peter, Claire, and McCoy looked to the ceiling as they listened to Chekov publicly announce the end of the battle. "We did it." She mumbled, almost as if everything she had experienced was a twisted dream. But as she looked around at the casualties and blood smeared bay, she knew otherwise. It was very real and there were many people that didn't live to see the end of it despite her best efforts. Mohinder was still attaching tags to the dead he could identify and stacking them in a makeshift morgue. It was something he quietly did with solemn respect as the only service he felt he could provide. No one seemed to notice him but Claire, but it warmed her heart to watch him touch each person on the forehead and hum "Aum Nama Sivaya" before going to the next. She didn't exactly know what it meant, but she guessed it was a final blessing or death ritual. She never imagined Mohinder as a spiritual person, but the extra attention he paid to each victim surely would pay good karma later. He didn't know them and most probably didn't share his beliefs, but wherever they went after death he was there to wish them well and that was all that mattered.

Although they knew he had to be happy, McCoy returned to his duties with the same grim face as though they had just announced the day's lunch menu. For him it was far from over, but at least it meant the end of the torrent of wounded. He was starting to run out of space and was thinking of staging some of the less serious cases in the mess hall. Peter noted the announcement with a smile and returned his attention to his patient to heal a wound with the dermal regenerator.

Down in the engine rooms, a sweaty and tired Ando danced with joy with the other engineers. At that moment it didn't matter that he wasn't one of them- he had fought alongside them and it was largely thanks to his efforts that they were able to defend themselves in the first place. Giving recognition where recognition was due, he had the honor of the first drink of homemade brew that suddenly appeared out of every hatch and crevice in the department. He tried to keep a straight face, but it was very strong and he smiled and received many pats on the back and handshakes for at least attempting to drink what could probably peel paint off a wall.

On Romulus, the mood was somber. What started as such a promising day had somehow devolved into a nightmare. For Koval, the loss was both professional and personal. He sat in the dark, stony silent hall of the Senate chamber gazing passively at the seat his only son once occupied not more than a day before, triumphant. Now the hall was empty, just like his soul. To mourn the loss of his son- a hero to his people- may not have stung so much as did the word that he believed his father to be a traitor and had plans to overthrow him did. At first he refused to believe it, coming from Klingon channels as it did- but the treason was confirmed by those who had spoken to him since he had left for the savage world in chase of final glory.

What was to be a celebration was now a funeral. No matter his son's true reason for going into Klingon territory, the public would never know it. They would be told he died fighting the Klingons even if it was only a half truth; the Federation was not as valuable an enemy as their traditional sworn foe. They also would not know of the magical humans he spoke of. There was no need to cast a pale light on the national icon he would become. His people needed it and his father needed it.

He did have to explain why he agreed to trade the Vulcan Spock back to the Federation with nothing in return, and truth be told he wasn't even sure of why he did it. To admit an error was out of the question. That left only two choices: tell the populace that the Vulcan had been executed, or commit suicide and die honorably. He knew the probability of pulling off such a widespread conspiracy was quite low as the mob would demand to see his green blood soaked corpse on display. He sat back in his chair and thought of his poor wife. To bear so much pain was unfair, but it was to be expected of her. She would lose a son and her husband in the same day. Hopefully she would not think badly of him even though those closest to him would know the reason why he did it. They may be polite and tell her that he just couldn't take the loss of his son and heir.

How things had become so twisted in such little time, he had no idea. He had been in politics his entire life as was his father and his father before him. He knew the ins and outs of lies and espionage, yet this was beyond his comprehension. He wondered if the magic humans were indeed something special and had something to do with it. The more he thought about it, he began to chuckle. Of course. If there were two special godlike humans, there may have been more hidden behind the scenes influencing his every move. He may have even sat across from some of them at the negotiation table unknowingly. He was warned that they had almost infinite power and many capabilities. He had been playing with fire all along and never smelled the smoke. A smile slowly spread across his weary, wrinkled, tattooed face. "Well played." He commended before lifting a phaser to his head and pulling the trigger.

The hall once again fell silent except for the soft splattering of blood as it flowed off the edge of the table and dripped onto the stone floor.


	67. Chapter 67 Back to Life

**A/N: Ok my loyal and faithful followers, this is it. I decided to end this saga before it got out of hand (and reached the 1 year anniversary of the beginning). Big thanks to all who had the patience to stick through the *entire* rambling thing and indulged my psyche with warm reviews! This story has set many records: it is the longest I have ever written, had the most traffic, and the most reviews! Yeah! Not bad for a crossover I was sure no one would find…Thanks again- love you all!**

**Chapter 67- Back to Life**

"Well, don't you look a hot mess." Sylar sneered down at Peter who was covered in blood from his patients and looking generally disheveled from triaging the wounded.

Peter glanced at his nemesis and noted the streaks of blood hastily wiped away from his face. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Alright everybody." Jim sighed with exhaustion. "I called you all to the bridge to first and foremost commend you all on your outstanding efforts to fight this battle. I know it wasn't any of your business, but every one of you stepped up and did your part to help this crew do its duty. I don't think I'm alone when I say we couldn't have done it without you." The Starfleet crew cheered and seconded their leader's remarks. "However," he said in a lower voice "we now have to figure out what to do with you. I have two Federation ships that will be here shortly and they don't know who you are."

"It's just as well." Noah smiled. "I think we have overstayed our welcome. It's probably time we went home."

"I wouldn't say that. We kind of like having you around." Uhura shrugged. "You kinda grew on us."

Chekov agreed whole heartedly. "Yes. I vish ve could have known each other under less stressful circumstances. Like vhen people are not trying to kill us."

"Or us." Matt said without thinking. He nervously glanced at Nathan and muttered, "Sorry" although in a way he really wasn't. Sylar's lie detector went off and he scoffed.

"I'd hate to see you go too." Jim lamented. "But is it safe for you to go back? I mean, an agreement is an agreement."

"I don't know that it will ever be safe." Peter admitted glancing at Hiro. "But I think we'll be ok."

"Well, you can always come back. It is safe for you here." Sulu stated. Scotty gave him an incredulous look that prompted him to add, "I mean _relatively_. When we aren't being blown up or chased…or invaded…or…" he trailed off and slowly turned back to his station clearing his throat.

"But did you get what you needed?" Mohinder asked. "An agreement was indeed an agreement."

"I think we got enough." McCoy answered. "I don't know if we ever could unravel the question of what makes you all tick even if we had eternity to do it."

"I believe the mystery can be solved with enough data and patience." Spock countered. "Unfortunately in this study we did not have a sufficient supply of either to come to a firm conclusion. Further testing will be required to fully address the issue."

"So you're saying you want us to come back?" Claire asked with a smile.

Spock nodded slightly. "Despite the circumstances of your introduction to this time and the difficulties that were experienced, I do believe this has been a fruitful exchange with mutual benefit."

"Sir, the rescue ships are approaching." Sulu warned.

"Alright, I guess this is it." Jim summed turning to face his unusual conscripted crew. "It was a pleasure having you aboard. Hopefully this won't be goodbye despite the fact that we probably shouldn't have met in the first place."

"Karma is a strange thing." Mohinder warmly smiled. "Time is circular, you know. Fate may find a way to bring us together again."

"Let's hope so." Jim nodded while everyone in the group huddled together to depart.

"I'm not holding your hand." Sylar warned Peter in a low voice.

"C'mon," Peter playfully teased, "You know you want to. It doesn't make you less of a man."

Sylar's dark eyes flashed with anger. "I'll kill you when we get back. You know that, don't you?"

"You can try." He replied unconcerned.

In the blink of an eye, they were gone and the bridge seemed unbearably empty. After a moment of silence Chekov observed, "And then just like that, they are gone back many years to their own lives a long time ago."

"Yeah," Sulu noted furrowing his brow, "and I used to think crossing thousands of light years with a warp drive was pretty freaky. What just happened is pretty messed up."

Jim leaned in close to whisper in Spock's pointed ear, "Still think we violated the Prime Directive?"

Spock thought about it and calmly replied, "A technicality."

Everyone appeared in Peter's dark living room mostly because there was nowhere safer to be, but that wasn't saying much in his neighborhood. Sylar looked around in amazement and taunted, "Nice place, Petrelli. When do you actually move in?"

"You could let him borrow your IKEA catalog." Noah deadpanned. Sylar shot him an evil glance that he promptly ignored.

"Seriously, Pete." Nathan agreed. "You need a maid." He paused to look back at the folding chairs and card table that served as a kitchen set. "And some furniture."

"Ok everybody, you made your point now get out." He groused.

"I like the rug." Hiro said hopefully. "Very soft when I fall on it with strange men from the future."

"Sounds like a fetish." Matt grumbled. "TMI."

Mohinder laughed despite himself. "I'm sorry my friend, but you walked right into that one."

When the laughter died, Claire solemnly asked, "So where do we all go from here? I mean, how do we just pretend that none of this just happened?"

"The same as we always have." Ando answered placing his hand on her shoulder. "At least we got to see a future where we are known. That makes it easier to hide for now, knowing that one day we will be accepted."

"Hai." Hiro nodded with conviction. "It will be because of us and our actions that the future exists."

Noah and Peter exchanged uneasy glances over Angela's prediction. No one knew what the future now held for them, but they chose to believe they could shape it.

"Incoming hail from Admiral Pike." Uhura announced.

Jim nearly sighed with dread. "Onscreen."

Despite what he may have actually been thinking, Pike had a pleasant smile on his face. "Kirk. I see you managed to limp back to Federation space being towed by a tractor beam. Nice job in not totally destroying the flagship like a drunken sailor out for a joyride."

"Thank you, Sir." Jim uneasily replied.

"However, I see we have very different ideas about not looking for trouble in enemy airspace. Somehow a humanitarian rescue turned into a Klingon/Romulan war with you stuck in the middle and a massive repair materials bill from the Klingon Empire! Did I not make myself clear?"

"You did, Sir, but things got a little crazy."

"As they always seem to with you occupying any space." Pike scowled. "As soon as you get back to Earth's orbit to dock for repairs, I want you and Mr. Spock to personally deliver your report at Headquarters front and center. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Jim answered defeated. Another go to Jesus meeting for another ass chewing.

"One more thing, Kirk." Pike said looking disturbed. "We got a transmission from the Romulans regarding some strange stuff that went on out there. Something about magic humans? What the hell is that about?"

"Yeah," Jim sighed glancing at Spock but finding no obvious support, "we did take on some humans that said they had special abilities."

Pike frowned. "What? Like….evolved humans? You know that's a myth, right?"

"Yeah." Jim quickly agreed seeing a possible way out of his situation. "We did some testing on them, but the data…"

"The data showed nothing special." McCoy interrupted.

Pike seemed to notice him for the first time despite the fact he hadn't left the bridge since the rescue team arrived. "Christ man, you look like hell."

Bones looked down at his blood soaked uniform and ran a hand through his hair to try to make himself look less like a wild man. "Yeah, well it was a rough battle, Sir."

Pike nodded with empathy. "So the data you have was negative?"

"Yes, Sir. The two individuals I tested were just normal human males. I can send the data to HQ after I get the sickbay back in working order."

"Not necessary, I believe you. It's just that the Romulans were making claims that these people you picked up could read minds, use some invisible force to move things and shoot fire from their hands and all manner of insane things. What's more is they say they saw them do it and they're running around the whole damn galaxy telling everyone." He sighed wearily at the stupidity of it all. "Anyway, where are they now?"

"They are unaccounted for at this time, Sir." Spock spoke up. "If they are not located, per protocol it will be assumed that they perished in the battle. Many decks sustained heavy damage and some of the crew were known to have been evacuated into space when the hull was breached."

"I see." Pike said solemnly. "Battle's a hell of a thing, Gentlemen. Dr. McCoy, forward your known casualties list as soon as is feasible so we can notify the families. Kirk- I don't know how in the hell you get yourself in and out of these kinds of situations, but keep it up and you won't live to see retirement. Pike out."

Chekov turned in his seat to face his superior. "But Commander, ve do know vhere they vent."

Spock regarded the little Russian with a stony expression. "Are you willing to attest to your theory in an official report, Ensign?"

Chekov reddened slightly when he realized how crazy it would look on paper. "No, Sir. I guess not."

"Spock! You amaze me. And they say Vulcans don't lie." Jim beamed.

"I did not directly contradict the facts." Spock clarified. "I merely stated protocol. They are not on the ship, we do not in fact know of their exact location, so they will be presumed dead. It's all a matter of perspective."

"You are my hero." Sulu chuckled.

"May I suggest another role model with better attributes to aspire to." He was slightly embarrassed and hoped no one noted the slight blush of green that swept his pointed ears and cheeks.

"I think you do just fine." Uhura teased.

After a moment of reflection, he nodded slightly. "I see. This has become a game- a game I do not wish to participate in. So, I suggest you find an appropriate activity to engage in or I will be forced to assign unappealing tasks to keep you occupied."

"I've got some plants to watch grow." Sulu volunteered.

"Yes. I can do…calculations…of some kind." Chekov mumbled.

Uhura got the hint. "Probably should brush up on some Andorian slang. You know, keep my skills current."

McCoy simply waved him off as if he dared the green blooded hobgoblin to do anything to him.

After the crew sneaked away from the obsidian eyes of their boss, Jim swiveled in his seat chuckling. "You are evil."

"On the contrary. I gave them an opportunity for freedom and wisely they accepted it. That is the very definition of magnanimous."

Jim looked confused. "Mag…whatever. So, do you think we'll ever see them again? The humans?"

"I am not certain." He admitted. "However, the chances are increased so long as the ability to time travel is retained by Peter and Hiro."

Jim smiled at his First Officer. "Admit it. You thought I was crazy at first."

The corner of Spock's mouth turned up ever so slightly and his eyes lightened just a bit. "What I have learned, Captain, is that any attempt at rational thought around you only results in headaches."

"Jim!" He howled. "Jesus, why can't you just call me Jim?"

Spock smiled to himself as he left the bridge. It was his way of poking Jim in the arm repeatedly and he saw no logic in stopping in the near future.

**THE END!**


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